Pretty   Mrs.  G-aston, 


AND    OTHER    STORIES. 


BY 

JOHN    ESTEN    COOKE, 

AUTHOB  Or  "THE   TIBOIIUA  COMEDIANS,"  "  SCRRT  OP   EAGLE'S  JfTBST, 
"  DK.  VAX   DYBLE,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW    YORK: 

ORANGE    JUDD     COMPANY, 

245    BROADWAY. 


.    See  page  24.) 


PS  \382- 


.  F74 


' 


ro    r^"^   CRITICS 

(radiant  in  ribbons  and  roses') 

e  evergreens  and  read  this  history, 
"PRETTY   MES.     G ASTON" 
it  respectfully  dedicated. 


1  '3240 


Entered,  according;  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1874,  by  the 

ORANGE   JUDD    COMPANY, 
.In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


CONTENTS. 


PRETTY    MRS.    GASTON. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER  1.— Love  and  Beggary — 9 

CHAPTER  2. — An  Eccentric 13 

CHAPTER  3. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ormby 20 

CHAPTER  4. — Mr.  Jobson  Protests 24 

CHAPTER  5.— A  Fox-llunt  and  What  Followed  It 27 

CHAPTER  6.— The  Crisis  in  A  Young  Man's  Life 35 

CHAPTER  7.— Mr.  Jobs  on  Consults  with  Dr.  Harrington 41 

CHAPTER  8.— A  Nest  of  Doves 45 

CHAPTER  9.— Harrington  Feels  His  Way 54 

CHAPTER  10.— George  Cleave  and  His  "Little  Sister1' 59 

CHAPTER  11.— The  Result  of  Breaking  One's  Leg 68 

CHAPTER  12.— Mr.  Brown 74 

CHAPTER  13.— Which  Brings  Up  the  Narrative 79 

CHAPTER  14. — Mr.  Daintrees  Makes  an  Elaborate  Toilette  and  Visits  The 

Hollies 83 

CHAPTER  15.— In  the  Swamp 88 

CHAPTER  16.— Beside  the  Fire  in  the  Swamp 91 

CHAPTER  17.— The  Physician  in  Spite  of  Himself 97 

CHAPTER  18. — Harrington  Announces  His  Intention  to  Leave  Waterford...l04 

CHAPTER  19.— The  Woes  of  Daintrees 109 

CHAPTER  20. — How  Harrington  Declared  that  He  Had  Grown  Ten  Years 

Younger... 114 

CHAPTER  21.— Allan  Gartrell,  Esq 119 

CHAPTER  22.— What  Money-Trouble  Brings  Some  Men  To 123 

CHAPTER  23.— Mr.  Gartrell  and  His  Friend  Mr.  Brown 128 

CHAPTER  24.— Jack  Daintrees  Entertains  Some  Friends 135 

CHAPTER  25. — The  Lawyer  and  the  Lumber  Agent 140 

CHAPTER  26.— What  Occurred  at  The  Hollies  on  a  Summer  Night 146 

CHAPTER  27.— What  Occurred  at  Bay  View 155 

CHAPTER  28.— Mr.  Brown  Pronounces  Sentence 161 

CHAPTER  29.— Skirmishing  at  The  Hollies 165 

CHAPTER  30.— A  General  Engagement 170 

CHAPTER  31.— The  Cypress  Leaf— and  the  Sunshine 178 

CHAPTER  32. — Mr.  Brown  Departs 183 

CHAPTER  33.— Which  Treats  of  the  Mysterious  Movements  of  Mr.  Jobson...l89 

CHAPTER  34.— Waiting 195 

CHAPTER  35.— lu  Conclave  . .  198 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  36.— Mr.  Brown  Begins 202 

CHAPTER  37.— Mr.  Brown  Continues 205 

CHAPTER  38.— Mr.  Brown  Concludes  His  Explanation  210 

CHAPTER  39.— And  the  Curtain  Palls  upon  the  Comedy 221 


ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER. 

PAGE. 

CHAPTER  1.— From  a  Window 234 

CHAPTER  2.— A  School  Girl 232 

CHAPTER  3.— Two  Rivals  238 

CHAPTER  4.— Parting 243 

CHAPTER  5.— The  Return 247 

CHAPTER  6.— A  Woman 252 

CHAPTER  7.— The  Old  House 258 

CHAPTER  8.— At  the  Corner 264 

CHAPTER  9.— Conclusion 270 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH 273 


ILLUSTKATIONS. 


Mr.  Jobson  Protests Frontispiece. 

"  I  Am  a  Beggar,  Marian — a  Beggar !  " 11 

Annie  Bell  Stopped  and  Turned  Round — a  Statue  of  Surprise 50 

"  Oh  1  Mr.  Daintrees  ! " '. ....". 91 

"  Good  Morning,  Sir  1 "  Said  Marian  Rising 125 

"  His  Health  !  " .131 

"No  Offence  is  Meant  by  Either  Gentleman,  I  Am  Sure." 137 

Cries  Were  Heard  One  or  Two  Hundred  Yards  in  Front  of  The  Hollies 153 

"  Your  Father,  Miss ?  " .- 158 

The  Prying  Moon— What  It  Lingered  upon  Now 176 

The  Individual  Resembling  a  Bull-dog  Had  Listened 219 


PRETTY    MBS.    G-ASTON. 


CHAPTER    I. 

LOVE       AXD       BEGGARY. 

OK  an  autumn  afternoon,  some  years  ago,  a  young  girl 
was  standing  before  her  mirror  in  an  upper  cham 
ber  of  Bayview,  an  old  house  on  the  western  bank  of  the 
Chesapeake,  making  her  toilet,  evidently  for  a  ride  on 
horseback. 

She  was  about  seventeen,  had  very  large  blue  eyes  full 
of  candor  and  sweetness,  a  delicate  complexion,  lips  that 
seemed  always  smiling,  and  a  figure  slender,  supple,  and 
undulating.  You  might  have  called  her  a  beauty  as  she 
stood  before  her  mirror  with  her  graceful  arms  raised, 
and  the  small  hands  balancing  the  brown  felt  riding-hat 
on  her  braids. 

Having  arranged  her  hat  to  her  satisfaction,  she  took  a 
riding  whip  with  an   ivory  handle  and  a  pair  of  buff 
9 


10  PBETTY  MES.    GASTOtf. 

gauntlets  from  the  table,  and  went  down  stairs  support 
ing  her  long  skirt  on  her  left  arm.  In  front  of  the  por 
tico  a  groom  was  holding  two  horses,  one  with  a  lady's 
side-saddle.  At  the  door  a  young  gentleman  was  waiting 
for  her. 

The  character  of  some  human  beings  is  read  at  a  glance 
without  trouble.  The  person  who  had  come  to  ride  out 
with  Miss  Marian  Ormby  might  have  been  described  as 
the  "average  young  man."  He  was  well-shaped,  well- 
dressed,  had  a  handsome,  if  not  very  intellectual  face, 
and  smiled  naturally,  which  is  a  distinct  gift. 

The  greeting  exchanged  between  the  two  young  per 
sons,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  gentleman  assisted 
the  lady  to  mount  her  horse,  indicated  relations  of  an 
intimate  character.  It  required,  in  fact,  but  a  very  small 
amount  of  perspicacity  to  understand  that  they  were 
engaged — since  there  was  not  only  fondness,  but  confi 
dence  and  tranquillity. 

The  countenance  of  the  young  gentleman  had  glowed 
suddenly  as  the  girl  came  out ;  but  as  they  rode  down 
the  hill  and  into  the  fields  beyond  the  great  gate  enclos 
ing  the  grounds  this  glow  disappeared,  and  the  face 
became  gloomy. 

Thereupon  followed  this  dialogue  : 

"What  is  the  matter,  George  ?" 

"  The  matter,  Marian  ?" 

"You  seem  to  he  troubled,  and  are  actually  pale." 

"Well,  I  have  something  to  trouble  me " 

He  stopped,  sighing.  The  young  lady  looked  at  him 
more  attentively. 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTON. 


11 


"  I  never  saw  you  so  dispirited.     Is  anything  the  mat 
ter?    Tell  me,  George!" 

"  Marian — I  am — it  is  hard  to  tell  you." 


"  I  AM  A  BEGGAR,  MARIAN — A  BEGGAR  !  " 

"  I  have  the  right  to  share  your  troubles  if  you  have 
any." 

The  gentle  and  caressing  voice  touched  him.  He  said 
with  a  deeper  sigh  than  before  : 

"Do  you  koow  whom  you  are  engaged  to  ?" 


1&  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf. 

"I  believe  I  do!" 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  little  laugh  and  to  see  the 
faint  blush. 

"I  supposed  at  least  that  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
was — Mr.  George  Cleave,  of  Cleaveland." 

"  Cleaveland  is  not  mine." 

<(  Not  your  own  ?" 

"I  am  a  beggar,  Marian — a  beggar!  I  only  found  it 
out  last  night,  and  have  come  to  tell  you  all  about  it, 
and — and — ask  you  for  some  advice  and — comfort,  Ma 
rian." 

Now  as  Mr.  George  Cleave  was  at  this  time  aware  of 
only  a  part  of  the  circumstances  leading  to  the  critical 
change  in  his  worldly  affairs,  we  shall  supply  the  omis 
sions,  and  narrate  fully  if  briefly  what  had  happened, 
going  back  to  a  chamber  in  the  great  mansion  of  Cleave 
land  three  or  four  years  before  the  date  of  this  history. 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK.  13 


CHAPTER    II. 

AH     ECCENTRIC. 

HAMILTON  CLEAVE,  Esq.,  possessor  of  Cleave- 
land,  one  of  the  amplest  estates  in  that  part  of 
Virginia,  returned  home  one  evening  through  a  heavy 
rain  after  a  ride  over  his  property,  and  on  the  next  day 
took  to  his  bed  and  sent  for  his  family  physician. 

The  physician  did  not  make  his  appearance  until  even 
ing,  when  the  disease — pneumonia— had  made  gigantic 
strides. 

"Well,  Doctor?  What  do  you  think?"  said  Mr. 
Cleave. 

The  doctor  looked  dispirited,  and  made  an  evasive 
reply.  He  remained  all  night,  and  in  the  evening  of  the 
next  day  Mr.  Cleave  asked  again,  this  time  in  a  much 
weaker  voice : 

"What  do  you  think  now,  Doctor?" 

"I  regret  to  say  that  you  are  very  ill,  Mr.  Cleave." 

"I  know  that.  I  wish  you  to  speak  plainly.  I  am 
going  to  die,  am  I  not?" 

The  doctor  hesitated. 

"Speak  plainly." 


14  PEETTY   MES.    GASTOK. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Mr.  Cleave,  that  your  condition  is 
critical — very  critical  indeed." 

"  Is  there  a  chance  for  my  recovery  ?" 

The  doctor  made  no  reply;  whereupon  Mr.  Cleave 
moved  his  head  feebly  and  said  : 

"  I  know  what  I  wanted  to  know  now.  Oblige  me  by 
sending  a  servant  to  Mr.  Marks,  my  legal  adviser." 

Having  uttered  these  words  with  entire  nonchalance, 
the  sick  man  closed  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  be  reflecting. 

Mr.  Marks  promptly  made  his  appearance,  and  the  old 
planter  requested  him  to  take  his  seat  at  the  table  and 
write  his  will. 

"  I  will  state  briefly  my  wishes  in  reference  to  the  dis 
posal  of  my  property,  Mr.  Marks.  There  are  three  per 
sons  only  who  have  any  claims  upon  me — my  nephew, 
George  Cleave,  who  is  at  college;  a  second  nephew, 
Allan  Gartrell,  now  in  Paris,  I  believe ;  and  Annie  Bell, 
the  daughter  of  an  old  friend,  adopted  by  me." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Cleave." 

"I  wish  the  Cleaveland  property  here,  with  all  the 
personal  estate,  to  go  to  George  Cleave,  who  has  nothing, 
and  my  '  Free  Hill '  farm  to  go  to  Annie  Bell,  with  all 
the  personal  effects,  as  in  the  first  instance." 

"And  Mr.  Gartrell,  sir?" 

"  No  part  of  my  real  estate.  He  is  well  provided  for — 
his  father  left  him  an  ample  property.  I  give  him,. how 
ever,  as  a  mark  of  my  regard,  the  certificates  of  railway 
and  other  stock,  which  you  will  find  in  the  drawer  of  that 
desk  in  the  corner." 

"Any  further  directions,  Mr.  Cleave?" 


PEETTY   MBS.    GASTCW.  15 

"None,  sir." 

"  The  Cleaveland  property,  real  and  personal,  to  your 
nephew,  Mr.  George  Cleave;  the  Free  Hill  estate  and 
personalty  to  Miss  Annie  Bell;  the  railway  and  other 
certificates  of  stock  to  Mr. 'Allan  Gartrell?" 

Mr.  Cleave  nodded  and  closed  his  eyes.  Half  an  hour 
afterwards  Mr.  Marks  said  : 

"  I  have  finished.  Shall  I  read  the  paper,  Mr.  Cleave  ?" 

"If  you  please." 

The  lawyer  read  it  slowly. 

"  Correct,"  was  the  sole  comment  of  the  sick  man. 

"  I  have  left  a  blank  for  the  name  of  your  executor." 

"I  will  add  it  later." 

On  the  next  day  the  will  was  executed,  two  friends 
who  came  to  see  Mr.  Cleave  officiating  as  witnesses.  In 
the  evening  they  were  gone,  and  the  doctor  only  was 
present. 

"Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Cleave  feebly,  "where  is  Annie  ?" 

"Down-stairs,  sir." 

"Poor  thing  !  she  will  be  alone  now.  And  George— I 
wish  George  would  come  ! " 

"  He  has  been  sent  for,  Mr.  Cleave,  and  will  arrive,  I 
hope,  to-night." 

"As  soon  as  he  comes,  say  I  wish  to  see  him,  and— 
stop,  Doctor;  I  have  executed  my  will,  but " 

The  voice  ceased  for  an  instant. 

"She  will  have  no  home,"  he  went  on  in  a  faint, 
dreamy  voice.  "  If  I  could  only  bring  about " 

He  stopped  again. 

"Doctor,"  he  said  in  a  moment,  "you  are  a  friend, 


16  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOX. 

and  have  often  visited  me  here.  Have  you  observed 
George  and  Annie  ?" 

"I  have  frequently  seen  them,  Mr.  Cleave." 

" Do  you  think  them  fond  of  each  other?" 

"  I  think  I  have  observed  that  they  were  quite  fond." 

The  dying  man  seemed  much  gratified  by  these  words. 

"If  George  would  only  come,"  he  said;  "all  depends 
on  that  now " 

He  lay  for  an  hour  after  this  without  moving  or  speak 
ing;  his  eyes  closed,  his  breathing  faint  and  irregular. 
Then  he  opened  his  eyes  and  said : 

"I  wish  you — to  tell  me,  Doctor — how  long  I  have  to 
live  !  It  is  important  that  you  should  speak  plainly." 

It  was  evident  that  the  dying  man  had  some  fixed 
design,  and  the  physician  knew  that  he  would  insist 
upon  a  response. 

"I  regret  to  say,  Mr.  Cleave,"  he  replied,  "that  you 
are  sinking  steadily.  Before  midnight,  I  fear." 

"  That  is  enough.  Do  me  the  favor  to  go  to  the  win 
dow,  Doctor,  and  listen  if  you  hear  George  coming. 
The  noise  of  the  carriage  wheels  may  be  heard." 

The  physician  went  and  listened.  The  wind  was  sob 
bing  without,  but  no  other  sound  disturbed  the  silence. 

"  I  hear  nothing,  Mr.  Cleave." 

"  Then  no  time  is  to  be  lost.  Do  me  the  kindness  to 
seat  yourself,  Doctor,  and  write  from  my  dictation  a 
codicil  to  my  will." 

The  old  physician  was  accustomed  to  obey  Mr.  Cleave, 
who  always  insisted  on  things.  He  sat  down,  drew  a 
sheet  of  paper  to  him,  and  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink. 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  17 

What  Mr.  Cleave  dictated  in  the  clearest,  briefest,  but 
most  definite  manner  was  a  codicil  to  his  will  to  the  effect 
that  the  estate  of  "  Cleaveland,"  with  all  pertaining  to 
it,  should  go  to  his  nephew  George  Cleave  only  on  condi 
tion  that  he  should  marry  Annie  Bell  before  he  was 
twenty-five  years  of  age.  This  condition  falling,  the 
estate  was  to  go  to  Allan  Gartrell— but  the  said  George 
Cleave  was  meanwhile  to  have  possession. 

The  physician  listened  with  some  astonishment,  but 
mechanically  wrote  what  the  patient  dictated. 

"Keadit,  Doctor." 

The  codicil  was  read. 

"Accurate.     Give  me  the  paper  and  a  pen." 

He  affixed  his  name,  and  had  just  done  so,  when  his 
head  fell,  and  he  dropped  the  pen. 

"Mr.  Cleave!" 

The  paper  escaped  from  the  dying  man's  hand  and  fell 
to  the  floor. 

The  physician  called  loudly  for  the  sick  man's  nurse, 
an  old  house-keeper,  who  ran  at  the  call.  When  she 
reached  the  chamber  Mr.  Cleave  was  dead. 

An  hour  afterwards  the  ph}^sician  set  out  to  ride  home, 
his  mind  so  oppressed  by  the  death  of  one  whom  he  had 
greatly  esteemed  that  he  had  entirely  lost  sight  of  the 
codicil  to  the  will.  A  singular  event  followed.  A  heavy 
rain  storm  had  arisen,  accompanied  by  thunder  and  light 
ning — the  aged  doctor  was  exposed  to  it  during  his  long 
ride,  and  an  acute  attack  of  fever  followed,  which  re 
sulted  ten  days  afterwards  in  his  death.  In  his  last 
hours  when  he  was  nearly  speechless,  he  seemed  desirous 


18  PKETTY   MKS.    GASTCW. 

of  making  some  communication — probably  to  speak  of 
the  codicil — but  his  broken  words  u  ere  not  understood, 
and  he  died  without  making  any  statement. 

A  fatality  indeed  seemed  connected  with  this  singular 
document.  The  aged  house-keeper  of  Mr.  Cleave  had 
proceeded  after  his  death  to  "set  the  room  to  rights" 
her  eyes  blinded  by  tears,  and  seeing  on  the  floor  what 
appeared  to  be  a  piece  of  waste  paper,  had  picked  it  up, 
folded  it  neatly,  and  placed  it  in  a  book,  which  she  had 
afterwards  consigned  to  the  book-case  in  the  library.  It 
was  thus  effectually  lost — to  be  discovered  only  three 
years  afterwards  by  George  Cleave,  who  had  arrived  an 
hour  after  his  uncle's  death. 

He  had  been  sitting  in  the  library  at  twilight  smoking 
and  his  cigar  had  gone  out.  Looking  for  a  piece  of 
waste  paper  to  relight  it,  he  had  seen  what  appeared  to 
be  a  book-mark  in  a  volume  in  the  book-case,  drawn  it 
out,  lit  one  corner  of  the  paper  in  the  fire,  and  was  about 
to  apply  his  cigar  to  the  flame  when  some  writing  on  the 
paper  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  extinguished  it. 
He  then  obtained  a  light,  read  the  paper — he  must 
marry  Annie  Bell,  then  residing  with  a  Mrs.  Gaston  in 
the  neighborhood,  or  surrender  Cleaveland. 

This  was  the  discovery  which  George  Cleave  announced 
to  Miss  Marian  Ormby,  to  whom  he  was  engaged  to  be 
married,  as  they  rode  out  together  on  this  autumn  even 
ing. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  their  conversation.  It  was 
gloomy  enough.  Cleave  lamented  bitterly  his  idle  and 
luxurious  life  since  taking  possession  of  Cleaveland — he 


PKETTY   MES.    GASTOK.  19 

might  have  established  himself  in  his  profession  of  the 
law — he  had  been  criminally  indolent — he  could  not  drag 
down  Marian,  even  if  Mr.  Ormby  consented,  and  it  was 
certain  that  he  would  never  consent !  So  the  youth  went 
on,  refusing  comfort. 

But  the  "  weaker  vessel"  consoled  the  other.  He  had 
nothing  ?  He  was  alone  and  poor  ?  No,  he  had  herself, 
and  what  did  she  care  for  wealth  ?  She  would  live  with 
him  in  a  cabin  !  the  brave  girl  said  with  flushed  cheeks, 
and  eyes  glowing  through  tears.  And  her  father  would 
consent — George  must  tell  him  all — they  could  wait  if 
necessary  until  he  established  himself  in  his  profession, 
she  would  wait  for  him  just  as  long  as  he  wished,  and  all 
would  be  well — unless — unless 

The  young  lady  laughed. 

"Unless  you  would  rather  marry  Miss  Annie  Bell !" 

It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  the  reply  of  George  Cleave 
to  these  words,  or  describe  his  proceeding.  A  little 
gleam  of  joy  broke  through  the  gloom — they  rode  back — 
and  Cleave  returned  to  his  own  house  to  concoct  a  state 
ment  of  affairs  for  the  eyes  of  Ormby  pbre. 

Alas  !  two  young  and  throbbing  hearts,  strong  only  in 
love  and  faith  were  matching  themselves  against  that 
horny  and  ossified  something  passing  for  a  heart  beneath 
the  ruffles  of  Mr.  J.  Ormby. 


20  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON. 


CHAPTEK    III. 

MR.     AND     MRS.     ORMBY. 

TFlOWAED  noon  on  the  day  after  the  ride,  Mr.  Ormby, 
I  a  portly  gentleman  of  about  sixty,  came  out  of  his 
library  at  Bayview,  took  his  gold-headed  cane  from  its 
corner,  put  on  his  hat,  and  descending  to  the  smooth 
gravel  walk  in  front  of  the  house,  began  walking  slowly 
to  and  fro. 

Mr.  Ormby's  walk  was  peculiar,  as  indeed  was  the 
whole  carriage  of  his  person.  He  held  his  chin  aloft, 
with  his  gold-headed  cane  beneath  his  left  arm,  and 
seemed  to  take  the  surrounding  landscape  under  his  pro 
tection.  From  time  to  time  he  turned  his  head  slowly 
from  side  to  side,  bestowed  a  glance  of  seignorial  com 
placence  upon  the  fertile  fields  before  him,  and  cleared 
his  throat  in  a  grave  and  dignified  manner,  indicative  of 
landed  proprietorship  and  self-esteem.  He  might  have 
been  described  indeed  as  overpowering  the  face  of  nature, 
as  he  overpowered  his  company. 

Haying  walked  slowly  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  house 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Mr.  Ormby  paused,  cleared  his 
throat,  and  was  about  to  reenter  the  mansion,  when  a 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  21 

servant  rode  up  the  hill  and  respectfully  delivered  a 
letter. 

"  Eh  ?  Eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Ormby.  A  note  ?  And  from 
my  young  friend  at  Cleaveland. " 

With  dignified  deliberation  he  opened  the  letter, 
placed  upon  his  venerable  nose  a  pair  of  gold  spectacles, 
and  began  the  perusal  of  the  document.  No  sooner, 
however,  had  he  read  two  or  three  lines,  than  he  lost 
his  air  of  composure,  glared  at  the  paper,  and  turning 
very  red  in  the  face,  hastened — actually  hastened — into 
the  house. 

In  the  hall  he  stopped,  fixing  his  eyes  again  upon  the 
paper.  Then  he  crumpled  it  in  his  hand,  and  went  hur 
riedly  to  announce  its  contents  to  Mrs.  Ormby. 

This  lady  was  seated  in  her  chamber — a  mild  and 
rather  feeble  looking  personage  in  a  black  alpaca  dress, 
a  lace  cap,  spectacles,  and  apparently  about  the  age  of 
Mr.  Ormby.  She  was  slowly  netting  some  article  of 
worsted  work,  and  raised  her  eyes,  with  an  air  of  dis 
quiet,  as  Mr.  Ormby  entered. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  business,  Mrs.  Ormby  !  a  pretty  busi 
ness  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ormby  ;  "  I  am  astounded,  madam 
— fairly  astounded  ! " 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ormby  with  gentle  acqui 
escence. 

"You  always  say,  'Yes,  my  dear/  madam!"  said  Mr. 
Ormby,  now  very  red  in  the  face,  "and  never  wait  to 
hear  what  is  said  to  you !  As  I  have  observed,  madam, 
this  is  a  pretty  business !  Here  is  a  letter  from  young 
Cleave — he  has  found  a  new  will  of  his  uncle's — he  is  to 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

marry  Miss  Bell,  the  young  woman  residing  with  her 
cousin,  Mrs.  Gaston,  at  The  Hollies,  or  the  fine  estate  of 
Cleaveland  goes  to  Gartell,  the  other  nephew  ! " 

"Yes,  my ,"  began  Mrs.  Ormby,  looking  startled. 

Then  she  stopped,  gazing  in  a  feeble  way  at  Mr.  Ormby. 

"  The  young  man — I  refer  to  Mr.  George  Cleave,"  said 
Mr.  Ormby,  walking  about  in  an  excited  manner, 
"writes  to  inform  me  of  the  discovery  of  the  new  will — 
a  codicil — he  makes  no  concealment — acts  honorably  in 
the  affair — and  it  is  due  to  Mm  that  I  should  be  equally 
candid,  Mrs.  Ormby!" 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ormby,  except  that  the 
"dear "was  inaudible.  She  gazed  at  him  in  a  vague 
and  helpless  way,  not  having  the  remotest  idea  of  what 
Mr.  Ormby  meant  by  being  "  equally  candid." 

"I  shall  be  plain  I  say,  madam ;  and  much  as  I  regret 
it,  inform  young  Cleave  that  his  engagement  with  Marian 
can  not — hem  ! — under  the  circumstances — hem  ! — con 
tinue!" 

"Oh  Mr.  Ormby!" 

It  was  the  most  original  observation  made  for  many 
months  by  the  excellent  lady. 

"Eh!  Eh!"  exclaimed  the  now  irate  gentleman, 
"you  object  then!  You  oppose  me!  You  wish  your 
daughter  to  marry  a  beggar !" 

Mrs.  Ormby  subsided  meekly  to  netting. 

"  Of  course,  madam,"  continued  Mr.  Ormby  with 
extreme  dignity,  "  Miss  Ormby,  of  Bayview,  can  not  be 
expected  to  unite  herself  with  a  young  person  who  has 
no  estate  and  no  means  of  marrying.  It  is  only  neces- 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  23 

sary  to  state  the  fact,  madam — ahem !  It  is  painful, 
extremely  painful — but  it  is  my  duty— I  owe  it  to  my 
daughter!" 

"  Poor  George  !"  muttered  Mrs.  Ormby. 

"What's  that,  madam?" 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

Mr.  Ormby  raised  his  head  with  dignity. 

"I  am  pleased  to  see  that  you  agree  with  me,  Mrs. 
Ormby !  I  shall  therefore  write  to  young  Cleave  the 
result  of  this  conversation.  His  obvious  course  is  to  fol 
low  the  wishes  of  his  uncle,  and  pay  his  addresses  at  once 
to  Miss  Bell.  I  will  therefore  proceed  to  write,  madam." 

And  Mr.  Ormby,  far  more  agitated  than  he  appeared, 
left  the  room  to  go  to  his  library,  Mrs.  Ormby  subsiding 
feebly  in  her  chair,  the  netting-needles  resting  on  her  lap. 


24  PKETTY   MKS.    GASTCW. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


MB.     JOBSON    PKOTESTS. 

GEORGE  CLEAVE  was  engaged  in  conversation  at 
Cleaveland  with  Mr.  Jobson,  attorney-at-law  from 
the  neighboring  town  of  Waterford. 

Mr.  Jobson  was  a  thin  and  wiry  old  gentleman,  with 
short  hair,  a  piercing  pair  of  eyes  behind  huge  spectacles, 
a  reticent  expression — and  had  the  habit  of  looking  at 
the  person  to  whom  he  was  speaking  out  of  the  upper 
portion  of  his  eyes,  above  his  glasses.  He  wore  a  suit  of 
rusty  black,  and  seemed  to  carry  about  with  him  the 
odor  of  law-books  bound  in  calf,  and  dusty  papers  tied 
with  pink  tape,  with  which  was  mingled  the  perfume  of 
the  old-fashioned  Scotdh  snuff  spilt  upon  his  coat-sleeves. 

Mr.  Jobson  had  been  engaged  for  fully  half  an  hour 
in  a  silent  examination  of  the  codicil  to  Mr.  Hamilton 
Cleave's  will,  and  now  quietly  laid  the  document  on  the 
table,  helping  himself  thereafter  to  a  large  pinch  of  snuff 
out  of  a  black  box. 

' '  I  understand  you  to  ask  my  professional  opinion  of 
this  paper,  Mr.  Cleave,  and  whether  it  is  valid  and  bind 
ing  in  law?" 


PEETTY   MRS.    GASTON".  25 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  is  of  no  force  or  effect  whatever,  and  I  hope  you 
have  taken  110  steps  of  any  sort  consequent  upon  its  dis 
covery.  " 

"Of  no  force  ?    Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Jobson  !" 

"  Look  at  it.     In  whose  handwriting  is  it  ?" 

"It  seems  to  be  dictated — that  is  to  say,  is  not  in  my 
uncle's  writing ;  but  the  signature  is  his  own. " 

"  I  do  not  know  that,  but  grant  so  much.  His  signa 
ture  is  the  only  one." 

"The  only  one?" 

"There  are  no  witnesses." 

"Is  that  necessary  ?" 

"  Absolutely  necessary.  If  written  throughout  by  your 
uncle's  hand  the  paper  would  be  valid  without  witnesses. 
Written  by  the  hand  of  another,  witnesses  signing  in  his 
presence  and  in  the  presence  of  each  other,  are  indis 
pensable." 

George  Cleave  took  up  the  paper,  and  scanned  it 
thoughtfully. 

"That  is  beyond  all  doubt  my  uncle's  signature,"  he 
said. 

"  I  think  it  more  than  probable." 

"  And  he  must  have  designed  this  paper  to  be  binding, 
else  he  would  not  have  signed  it." 

"Granted,  if  you  choose." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Jobson,  I  consider  myself  bound  as  a  gen 
tleman  not  to  contest  it." 

"Not  contest  it !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jobson. 

"  Certainly  not,  sir." 


26  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

"Not  contest  a  paper' of  no  earthly  validity!  Sur 
render  the  finest  property  in  the  county  under  a  paper 
like  this,  not  worth  the  ink  it  was  written  with  !" 

Cleave  shook  his  head. 

"I  know  you  are  my  friend,  Mr.  Jobson,  but  your  ad 
vice  is  bad.  You  acknowledge  that  the  only  flaw  in  this 
paper  is  the  omission  of  a  legal  formality  ;  it  is  plain, 
nevertheless,  that  my  uncle  intended  to  execute  the 
codicil — I  have  nothing  to  do  with  his  motives,  and  I  will 
carry  out  his  intentions." 

"  Give  up  the  property  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  I  can  not  offer  myself  to  Miss  Bell,  and  I 
know  she  has  not  the  least  wish  to  marry  me.  The  only 
thing,  therefore,  is  to  write  to  my  cousin  Allan  Gartrell — 
I  will  give  you  the  address  of  his  banker  in  Liverpool.  I 
wish  you  would  do  so,  and  say  that  I  am  ready  to  sur 
render  this  estate  to  him." 

Mr.  Jobson  burst  forth  into  exclamations  and  remon 
strances,  but  the  young  man  insisted. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  lawyer  at  length,  "your  father 
was  my  best  friend,  and  here  his  son  is  about  to  ruin 
himself.  Give  me  a  few  days  to  think  of  it — something 
may  turn  up — there  ought  to  be  a  compromise  at  the  very 
least,  if  there  is  to  be  no  contest." 

Mr.  Jobson  groaned. 

"  My  young  friend,"  he  added  with  pathetic  solemnity, 
"if  business  was  conducted  in  the  way  you  conduct  it 
the  world  would  not  go  on  for  a  day ! " 

And  with  this  last  protest  Mr.  Jobson  went  away — 
groaning. 


PKETTY  MBS.    GASTON.  27 


CHAPTER   V. 


A   FOX-HWT   AND   WHAT   FOLLOWED  IT. 

A  FEW  miles  from  Bayview  toward  the  interior, 
stood  "  The  Lodge/'  the  bachelor  stronghold  of 
one  of  the  most  popular  gentlemen  of  the  county.  The 
name  of  this  gentleman  was  Mr.  John,  or  "Jack," 
Daintrees,  and,  perhaps,  the  adjective  "bachelor"  ap 
plied  to  his  residence  was  a  little  inappropriate.  Mr.  Dain 
trees  was  a  widower  of  some  years'  standing ;  but  then 
he  was  childless,  extremely  jovial  in  his  tastes,  and  led 
the  life  of  a  rollicking  bachelor  and  fox-hunter,  keeping 
open  house  at  The  Lodge,  where  everybody  was  welcome. 
The  Lodge  was  what  is  called  a  "hip-roofed"  house, 
of  moderate  size,  built  of  wood,  overshadowed  by  tall 
elms,  and  extremely  bright-looking  and  comfortable.  It 
was  perfectly  plain  at  the  first  glance  that  no  ladies  lived 
at  The  Lodge,  which  had  a  free  and  careless  bachelor- 
look  about  it ;  but  Mr.  Daintrees  was  an  excellent 
manager,  was  well  to  do,  and  surrounded  by  every  com 
fort;  and  his  bachelor  entertainments,  thanks  to  ac 
complished  servants,  were  the  talk  of  the  county. 


28  PKETTY  MRS.    GABION". 

The  tastes  of  Mr.  Daintrees  were  soon  seen.  About 
the  lawn  extending  in  front  of  the  house  ran  twenty  or 
thirty  tawny  fox-hounds,  dragging  their  blocks,  and 
hastening  to  caress  their  master  whenever  he  appeared  ; 
and  the  stables,  which  were  kept  in  perfect  order  by  an 
old  gray-headed  negro  groom  with  an  army  of  young 
Africans  under  him,  boasted  quite  a  number  of  thorough 
bred  horses,  upon  which  Mr.  Daintrees  was  accustomed 
to  follow  the  hounds. 

The  interior  of  the  mansion  was  old-fashioned  and 
well  appointed.  The  walls,  covered  with  a  light,  gray 
paper,  were  hung  round  with  hunting  scenes  and  pictures 
of  English  race-horses  in  plain  walnut  frames.  The  fire 
places  were  large,  and  for  half  the  year  roared  with  great 
hickory  logs,  making  the  apartments  of  The  Lodge  a 
pleasant  sight  to  behold — especially  the  dining-room, 
when  Mr.  Daintrees  assembled  around  his  mahogany 
table,  dark  with  age,  and  decorated  with  decanters,  his 
bachelor  friends.  In  the  hall  a  spreading  pair  of  deer's 
antlers  did  duty  as  a  coat  and  hat  rack  ;  and  behind  the 
front-door  hung  a  hunting-horn,  the  spoil  of  some  mighty 
ox,  the  small  end  carved  to  set  well  to  the  lips  of  the 
blower,  and  around  the  larger  end  a  silver  band,  on  which 
was  carved,  "  John  Daintrees,  The  Lodge." 

Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  was  about  forty,  with  rather  a  full 
figure,  a  ruddy  and  smiling  face,  a  fine  forehead,  fine 
eyes,  and  dressed  rather  jauntily.  He  was  the  perfection 
of  good-humor  and  hospitality,  gay  in  his  address,  and 
universally  popular  with  ladies  of  all  ages.  He  did  not 
affect  youth,  and,  indeed,  was  accustomed  to  speak  of 


PEETTY   MRS.    GASTOH.       .  29 

himself  as  an  old  fellow  who  had  done  with  the  Yanities 
of  life ;  but  in  spite  of  these  disclaimers  he  was  welcomed 
everywhere  by  the  youngest  of  the  young  ladies,  who 
laughed  delightedly  at  his  gay  jests,  and  with  marked 
attention  by  those  of  more  advanced  age,  with  preten 
sions  still — under  favorable  circumstances- — to  matri 
mony. 

On  the  morning  when  we  visit  The  Lodge,  Mr.  Jack 
Daintrees  rose  at  daybreak,  and  descended  to  his  break 
fast-room  dressed  in  full  hunting-costume — short  coat, 
top  boots,  and  jockey  cap ;  for  on  this  day  Mr.  Daintrees 
proposed  to  f ollow  the  hounds  in  company  with  several 
of  his  friends  who  had  spent  the  night  with  him.  The 
breakfast-table  was  set,  a  cheerful  fire  blazing,  and  Dan, 
his  old  black  groom,  was  waiting  to  report. 

A  rapid  consultation  took  place  on  the  subject  of  the 
horses,  Dan  went  out  and  Mr.  Daintrees  proceeded  to 
ring  a  huge  bell,  which  brought  down-stairs  his  half- 
dozen  guests,  fresh  and  full  of  ardor  for  the  hunt. 

Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  had  a  jest  for  everybody,  and 
mixed  with  an  experienced  hand  a  jorum  of  peach  brandy 
and  honey,  which  was  passed  around.  Then  a  hearty 
breakfast  was  dispatched  ;  the  horses  were  led  out ;  Mr. 
Daintrees  blew  a  resounding  blast  upon  his  horn,  swung 
around  his  shoulder  by  its  green  cord  ;  and  the  gay  party 
set  out  after  the  hounds  toward  a  neighboring  copse, 
where  a  gray  fox  had  been  seen  on  the  preceding  day. 

Fifteen  minutes  afterwards  the  hounds  were  in  full 
cry,  and  the  chase  had  opened  under  the  most  favorable 
auspices. 


30  PBETTY   MBS.    GASTON. 

Three  hours  passed.  The  fox,  evidently  old  and  gray, 
had  taken  straight  across  the  country,  and  now  the  gay 
companions  of  the  morning  were  dispersed.  One  of  them 
had  rolled  in  a  ditch,  the  horses  of  nearly  all  the  rest  had 
given  out  or  fallen  behind,  and  only  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees 
and  one  other  had  kept  up.  The  personage  in  question 
was  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington,  a  young  physician,  who  had 
settled  down  a  year  or  two  before  at  Waterford,  and  who 
combined  out-door  amusements  with  his  professional 
pursuits  in  the  most  harmonious  manner. 

Dr.  Ealph  Harrington  impressed  you  at  the  first 
glance.  He  was  about  twenty-eight,  tall,  very  erect, 
with  a  face  full  of  intellect,  a  somewhat  satirical  expres 
sion  of  the  lips,  dark  eyes,  which  looked  calmly  into  your 
own,  and  carried  himself  generally  with  an  air  of  lazy 
good-nature.  A  shrinking  want  of  confidence  in  himself 
did  not  strike  strangers  as  a  very  marked  characteristic 
of  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington ;  but  he  was  popular,  neverthe 
less  ;  was  justly  regarded  as  an  able  physician,  and  had 
already  secured  an  excellent  practice. 

During  the  fox-hunt,  Dr.  Harrington  had  kept  up  with 
the  foremost,  and  now  found  himself  far  ahead  of  all  but 
his  friend  Jack  Daintrees.  They  were  riding  neck  and 
neck.  The  fox  had  gone  on  in  a  straight  course  for 
nearly  ten  miles,  had  then  doubled  and  came  back  by 
Cleaveland,  and  was  passing  between  The  Lodge  and  The 
Hollies,  the  home  of  a  fair  neighbor  of  Mr.  Daintrees, 
when  the  hunters  saw  emerge  from  a  woodland  road  a 
small  sorrel  ridden  by  a  young  lady.  The  gay  little 
animal  had  evidently  been  inspired  by  the  cry  of  the 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  31 

hounds,  and  was  going  at  full  speed  now  upon  their 
track — a  proceeding  which  seemed  to  afford  intense  de 
light  to  his  mistress.  She  was  a  young  girl  of  about 
eighteen,  with  a  complexion  all  roses,  red  lips  which 
seemed  made  for  smiling,  and  dancing  eyes  across  which 
some  brown  ringlets  were  driven  by  the  rapid  motion. 
Eyes,  lips,  ringlets,  all  were  indicative  of  gayety  and  en 
joyment. 

In  three  bounds  the  small  animal  bore  the  young  lady 
to  the  side  of  Mr.  Daintrees,  who  cried  : 

"Miss  Annie  !    Take  care  !" 

"  No,  no,  don't  stop  Brownie  ! "  was  the  quick  protest. 

"Ho  is  running  away!" 

"No,  indeed,  Mr.  Daintrees!  He  is  only — following 
the  hounds!" 

"A  heroine!"  cried  Mr.  Daintrees,  "'and  I  see  you 
have  command  of  him,  Miss  Annie.  Let  me  introduce 
my  friend,  Dr.  Harrington — Miss  Bell  ! " 

Dr.  Harrington  and  Miss  Bell  exchanged  a  polite  salu 
tation  with  their  heads  while  going  at  full  gallop;  and 
then,  as  if  between  sportsmen  there  was  no  time  for  cere 
mony,  they  went  on  at  high  speed  as  before.  Dr.  Har 
rington  was  evidently  much  impressed  by. his  new  ac 
quaintance.  It  was  very  plain  that  Miss  Annie  Bell  was 
an  excellent  rider,  and  she  cleared  two  or  three  fences  in 
a  way  which  filled  her  companions  with  admiration. 
Unluckily  her  good  fortune  deserted  her  at  the  fourth 
obstacle.  Her  small  steed  descended  into  one  of  those 
ditches  which  are  common  in  the  tide-water  region  ;  did 
not  recover  himself,  and  Miss  Annie  Bell  would  inevit- 


32  PEETTY  MRS.    GASTOK. 

ably  have  rolled  beneath  the  animal  had  not  Dr.  Ralph 
Harrington,  who  cleared  the  obstacle  at  the  same  moment, 
passed  his  arm  around  her  and  saved  her  from  falling. 

Mr.  Daintrees  had  shot  ahead,  and  as  this  scene  took 
place,  his  horn  was  heard  sounding  the  death.  A  few 
minutes  afterwards  he  galloped  back,  holding  up  the  tail. 
Suddenly  he  stopped.  He  saw  before  him  a  graceful  but 
unexpected  tableau — Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  standing  by 
his  horse,  and  supporting  the  young  lady  of  the  ringlets 
in  his  arms. 

"My  dear  Miss  Annie  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Daintrees. 

"  Don't  be  uneasy  !    I'm  not  hurt  in  the  least,  sir  !" 

And  the  ringlets  quickly  receded  from  Dr.  Ralph  Har 
rington — their  owner  uttering  a  laugh. 

"Well !"  said  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees.  "Here's  an  adven 
ture  for  you  !  A  fox-hunt,  a  lady  come  to  grief,  and  a 
rescue  !  But — oh  !  what  will  Mrs.  Gaston  say,  my  dear 
Miss  Annie  ?  " 

"She  shall  not  scold  you,  Mr.  Daintrees,  you  have  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it ;  and  besides  it  is  nothing,  I  have 
only  sprained  my  ankle." 

"  Only  sprained  your  ankle  !  that  is  too  bad.  What  on 
earth  are  we  to  do  ?" 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  The  Lodge  was  seen 
across  the  field,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
and  to  The  Lodge  the  young  lady  was  slowly  conducted, 
her  companions  gallantly  supporting  her  as  she  limped 
along,  and  leading  their  horses.  It  was  quite  encouraging 
to  see  what  a  jest  she  made  of  her  accident,  with  what 
grace  and  agility  she  got  over  a  fence  which  interposed, 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  33 

and  when  she  drew  near  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Daintrees 
she  exclaimed  with  a  delighted  laugh  : 

"I  knew  I  should  be  at  The  Lodge  some  day.  What 
a  fearful  bachelor  den  it  is  ! " 

"  Well,  walk  into  the  parlor,  Miss  Annie,"  said  Mr. 
Daintrees.  "I  am  not  a  spider  and  you  are  not  a  fly, 
and  you  will  come  out  safe  and  sound.  Now  to  write  to 
Mrs.  G-aston.  I  am  in  deadly  terror  of  her,  but  it  must 
be  done." 

"She  is  an  awful  person  indeed!"  said  Miss  Annie 
Bell,  subsiding  into  a  chair.  And  then  Mr.  Daintrees, 
who  owing  to  his  preference  for  the  saddle  had  no  species 
of  carriage  whatever,  wrote  and  dispatched  a  note  to 
The  Hollies,  sending  back  the  young  lady's  pony  by  the 
bearer. 

An  hour  afterwards  a  family  carriage  rolled  quickly  up 
to  the  door  of  The  Lodge,  and  a  lady's  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  Where  is  Annie  ?" 

"  She  is  quite  well,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Daintrees  hasten 
ing  forth  to  receive  his  guest.  "A  slight  sprain  only,  a 
mere  nothing."" 

And  Mr.  Daintrees  gallantly  supported  the  lady  as  she 
issued  from  her  carriage.  Mrs.  Gaston  might  have 
aroused  the  gallantry  of  a  less  susceptible  person  than 
Mr.  Jack  Daintrees.  She  was  a  lady  of  about  thirty-five, 
with  a  plump  and  most  graceful  figure,  blue  eyes,  brown 
hair  in  braids,  and  a  neck  so  round  and  white  that  the 
bow  of  pink  ribbon  holding  the  delicate  lace  collar  re 
sembled  a  rose  on  a  snow-drift.  There  were  red  roses 
too,  in  the  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston's  cheeks — for  this  lady 


34  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON". 

had  an  unconquerable  habit  of  blushing — and  a  little 
shrinking,  timid  smile  never  left  her. 

In  half  an  hour  Mrs.  Gaston  had  observed  all  the  cere 
monies  peculiar  to  ladies  upon  such  occasions ;  that  is  to 
say,  she  had  clasped  Annie  in  her  arms,  kissed  her  with 
animation,  examined  the  sprained  ankle,  and  scolded  the 
victim  mildly  for  her  imprudence.  Mrs.  Gaston  then 
gently  rose,  said  with  her  shrinking  smile  that  she  must 
go,  and  with  the  assistance  of  the  two  gentlemen,  Miss 
Annie  Bell,  limping  and  laughing,  was  conducted  to  the 
carriage. 

(t  After  all  your  den  is  not  such  a  fearful  place,  Mr. 
Daintrees,"  said  Miss  Annie  as  she  got  into  the  carriage. 
"You  must  come  and  see  us,  and  return  our  visit  at 
The  Hollies." 

Mrs.  Gaston  said  in  her  turn  that  they  would  be  very 
glad  to  see  Mr.  Daintrees  and  Dr.  Harrington,  and  then 
the  carriage  rolled  away. 

Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  stood  gazing  after  it,  and  then 
turned  with  his  air  of  satire  mingled  with  lazy  good 
nature  to  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees. 

"Daintrees,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "this  looks 
something  like  an  adventure. " 

"  Most  romantic — and  delightful,  my  dear  Harring 
ton  !" 

"Well,  improve  it,"  said  his  friend. 

"Improve  it?" 

"  Court  the  widow,  Jack  !   She'll  suit  you  exactly  !" 


?KETTY   MKS.    GASTOK.  35 


CHAPTER    VI. 


THE   CKISIS   IN   A   YOUKG   MA^'S  LIFE. 

THE  worthy  Mr.  Ormby  had  retired  to  his  library 
after  paralyzing  Mrs.  Ormby  in  the  manner  which 
we  have  described,  and  seating  himself  at  his  writing- 
table  of  carved  walnut  with  a  green  cloth  top,  had 
essayed  to  answer  George  Cleave's  letter. 

Having  commenced  three  several  epistles,  he  finished 
by  tearing  up  all,  and  leaning  back  in  his  large  arm-chair 
with  a  blank  and  dissatisfied  expression,  began  to  reflect. 
His  position  was  truly  embarrassing.  It  was  impossible 
to  write  and  say  to  a  young  gentleman  whose  pretensions 
to  his  daughter's  hand  he  had  tacitly  recognized,  "Sir, 
you  have  lost  your  property,  and  as  you  are  now  poor, 
your  engagement  to  my  daughter  must  terminate  ;"  and 
yet  with  Mr.  Ormby's  views,  it  was  impossible,  however 
he  might  word  his  reply,  to  say  in  reality  anything  else. 
He  had  firmly  resolved  ten  minutes  after  receiving 
Cleave's  letter  that  the  engagement  should  end.  How 
he  was  to  bring  it  to  an  end,  now,  was  the  puzzle. 

For  a  long  time  the  worthy  Mr.  Ormby  reflected  with 


36  PEETTY   MBS.    GASTOtf. 

knit  brows,  looking  a  little  ashamed.  At  last  lie  reso 
lutely  took  up  his  pen,  selected  another  sheet,  and  con 
cocted  the  following  note : 

"  SIR — I  have  the  honor  to  acknowledge  the  receipt  of 
your  communication  of  to-day  on  the  subject  of  the  late 
Mr.  Cleave's  testamentary  disposition  of  his  estate,  and 
to  express  my  regret  that  the  discovery  of  the  wishes  of 
the  deceased  in  connection  with  Miss  Bell  should  have 
taken  place  after  so  long  a  period  of  time.  As  the  friend 
of  the  late  Mr.  Cleave,  and  if  you  will  permit  me  to  add, 
as  the  friend  of  yourself,  I  would  suggest,  as  your  most 
advisable  course  under  all  the  circumstances,  a  prompt 
compliance  with  the  terms  of  the  instrument  referred 
to.  Miss  Bell  is,  I  am  informed,  a  young  lady  of  amia 
ble  disposition  and  great  personal  attractions,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  would  readily  be  brought  to  see  the  propriety 
of  the  arrangement  in  question. 

"  In  reference  to  that  portion  of  your  communication 
which  relates  to  a  prolongation  of  the  engagement — of 
which  I  am  now  distinctly  informed  for  the  first  time — 
with  my  daughter,  I  regret  to  be  compelled  from  a  sense 
of  duty  to  say  that  I  am  wholly  unable  to  comply  with 
your  request.  I  refrain  from  entering  at  large  upon  my 
views  upon  the  subject,  and  shall  only  say  that  Miss 
Ormby  is  still  much  too  young  to  assume  responsibilities 
so  serious  as  those  which  are  imposed  by  matrimony.  In 
regard  to  the  desire  expressed  on  your  part  that  the 
engagement  of  which  you  inform  me  may  continue  indefi 
nitely,  I  am  reluctantly  obliged  to  say  that  in  my  opinion 
it  would  only  result  in  unhappiness,  and  to  inform  you, 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  •  37 

frankly  and  distinctly,  that  it  can  not  continue.     This,  I 
beg  to  add,  is  my  fixed  and  irrevocable  decision. 

"Regretting  the  unpleasant  character  of  this  com 
munication,  which  a  sense  of  parental  duty  renders 
unavoidable, 

"I  am,  sir,  your  ob't,  humble  serv't, 

J.  ORMBY." 

Having  dispatched  this  letter,  Mr.  Ormby  rang  and 
directed  the  servant  who  came  at  the  summons  to  inform 
Miss  Ormby  that  he  wished  to  see  her  in  the  library.  It 
was  not  without  emotion  that  he  awaited  her  appearance. 
He  was  a  wilfu-1  and  imperious  person,  this  Mr.  Ormby, 
but  not  a  cold  or  really  harsh  man ;  and  now  said  to 
himself  that  he  was  acting  for  his  daughter's  good — that 
her  marriage  with  an  impoverished  young  man  could 
result  in  nothing  but  suffering,  and  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  prevent  their  union  at  whatever  expense  of  feeling. 

Marian  came  in  and  took  the  seat  which  Mr.  Ormby 
pointed  out.  She  was  trembling  a  little,  and  the  color 
had  faded  from  her  cheeks.  Mr.  Ormby  cleared  his 
throat  elaborately,  and  entered  directly  upon  the  subject, 
announcing  in  plain  terms  that  the  engagement  with 
George  Cleave  must  be  broken  off. 

At  this  abrupt  announcement,  Marian  trembled  visi 
bly,  and  in  broken  words  protested.  Thereat  Mr.  Ormby 
grew  hard  and  stern.  It  was  then  her  purpose,  he  said, 
to  resist  the  will  of  her  own  parents — to  oppose  her 
caprice  to  their  authority.  She  had  no  such  desire,  the 
poor  girl  replied,  but — but — she  could  not — could  not — 
give  up  George ! 


38  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

At  these  words  Mr.  Ormby  knit  his  brows,  and  directed 
an  imperious  look  at  his  daughter.  So  it  had  come  to 
this !  he  said.  He  was  to  be  defied  by  his  own  child, 
when  he  was  actuated  only  by  an  anxiety  to  secure  her 
welfare !  He,  an  old  and  gray-haired  man,  was  to  yield 
his  judgment  to  a  girl's  ! 

It  was  possible,  as  she  thus  opposed  him,  that  she 
designed  to  wed  Mr.  George  Cleave  with  or  without  the 
consent  of  her  parents  !  Was  that  her  design  ? 

"  Oh  no,  sir ;  I  will  never  do  so,"  faltered  the  young 
lady.  "  I  can  assure  you  of  that  much ;  but  do  not  ask 
me  to  give  up  George — it  would  break  his  heart — and 
my  own  too." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Mr.  Ormby  had  proceeded  no 
further  than  this.  The  young  lady  declared  that  she 
would  never  marry  without  the  approval  of  her  parents, 
but  again  and  again — she  could  not  give  up  George  !  The 
interview  then  terminated,  and  she  went  to  her  chamber, 
from  which  she  was  summoned  an  hour  afterwards  by 
the  intelligence  that  George  Cleave  had  called  to  see  Mr. 
Ormby,  but  finding  that  he  had  ridden  out,  had  asked 
for  her. 

Marian  went  down,  and  they  remained  for  two  hours 
shut  up  in  the  drawing-room.  When  she  came  out  her 
eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  and  as  she  went  up  the  stair 
case  she  uttered  a  sob.  She  had  told  the  young  man  of 
the  promise  made  her  father,  that  she  would  never  marry 
without  his  consent ;  and  as  he  was,  now  at  least,  bit 
terly  opposed  to  their  union,  it  would  be  better,  Marian 
said,  that  he,  George,  should  cease  his  visits  for  some 


PEETTY   MRS.    G ASTON".  39 

time,  and  thus  avoid  inflaming  still  further  Mr.  Ormby's 
displeasure. 

Thereat  George  Cleave  had  grown  indignant,  and  inti 
mated  that  she  too  was  about  to  desert  him.  A  few  sobs 
and  tears  only  replied  to  this  cruel  charge — the  young 
lady  seemed  to  regard  it  as  unworthy  of  further  notice. 
Then  George  Cleave  rose,  permitted  his  wrath  and 
wretchedness  to  get  the  better  of  him,  and  terminated 
the  interview — returning  to  Cleaveland  full  of  indigna 
tion  and  despair. 

He  held  out  for  three  days,  and  then  went  again  to 
Bayview  and  asked  for  Marian.  The  reply  was  that  the 
young  lady  was  too  unwell  to  see  him.  He  then  stayed 
away  two  days,  when  he  repeated  his  visit.  Marian  had 
had  another  wretched  interview  with  her  father — had 
been  driven  step  by  step  to  make  the  cruel  promise  that 
she  would  simply  decline  seeing  him  if  he  came  again — 
and  did  so. 

A  week  afterwards  George  Cleave  came  once  more. 
He  was  so  thin  and  pale  now  that  he  was  scarcely  recog 
nizable.  Was  Miss  Ormby  at  home  ?  She  was^confined 
tcr  her  chamber,  and  Mrs.  Ormby  was  also  unwell.  Mr. 
Ormby?  He  had  ridden  out,  but  left  a  letter  for  Mr. 
Cleave.  The  young  man  took  it,  and  read  : 

"  Mr.  Ormby  presents  his  respects  to  Mr.  Cleave,  and 
begs  that  he  will  discontinue  his  visits  to  Miss  Ormby,  as 
they  are  disagreeable  both  to  Miss  Ormby  and  to  her 
family." 

When  George  Cleave  read  this  note  his  head  grew 
dizzy  and  his  pulse  throbbed.  He  looked  from  the  letter 


40  PEETTY   MKS.    GASTOK. 

to  tlio  servant,  and  then  again  at  the  letter.  Then  his 
pale  face  slowly  filled  with  blood,  and  his  eyes  habitually 
so  frank  and  kindly  grew  cold  and  stern. 

"So  be  it!"  he  muttered. 

He  then  slowly  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  back  to 
Cleaveland,  where  he  sat  down,  gazing  at  the  floor  in  a 
sort  of  stupor  of  wrath  and  despair.  He  was  still 
plunged  in  this  apathy,  when  the  door  opened,  a  firm 
step  advanced  toward  him,  and  a  cheery  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  How  are  you-  George !" 


PEETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  41 


CHAPTER    VII. 

ME.    JOBSCW    CONSULTS   WITH   DE.    HAEEIKGTON. 

A  WEEK  or  two  after  the  fox-hunt  and  dinner  at 
The  Lodge  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  was  seated 
about  dusk  in  a  cane-bottomed  chair,  in  his  office,  on  the 
main  street  of  Waterford,  smoking  a  cigar  and  musing. 

His  surroundings  were  commonplace  and  prosaic.  In 
one  corner  of  the  room  stood  an  old  set  of  shelves  con 
taining  an  array  of  dusty  bottles ;  on  the  mantel-piece 
was  a  skull  which,  owing  to  the  fact  that  some  visitor 
had  thrust  a  cigar  into  its  mouth,  presented  rather  a 
jocose  than  a  tragic  appearance ;  and  on  a  table  in  the 
centr.3  of  the  office  lay  piles  of  medical  books  and  jour 
nals.  The  floor  was  covered  with  a  rag  carpet,  intended 
evidently  for  use  instead  of  ornament ;  the  iron  fender 
was  very  old  and  rusty ;  and  a  pair  of  tongs — the  legs 
dislocated  and  crossed  with  a  bacchanalian  air — leaned 
rakishly  in  one  corner  of  the  fire-place,  where  burned  a 
cheerful  fire. 

Dr.  Harrington  puffed  lazily  at  his  cigar,  looking 
around  him  as  he  did  so. 


42  PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

" This  is  homeless  enough/'  he  muttered,  "and  I  miss 
the  old  folks  at  home — and  the  young  folks  too.  Even 
Daintrees  is  better  off.  I  am  glad  I  went  on  that  fox 
hunt  and  met  with  that  small  sort  of  adventure.  Annie 

Bell  ?    Well,  Miss  Annie  Bell  came  near  being  a  beauty 

?? 

He  had  left  the  door  open  a  little.  A  yoice  behind 
him  said : 

"  Then  you  have  heard  about  that  paper,  Doctor  ?" 

Harrington  turned  round  and  saw  Mr.  Jobson,  who 
came  in  and  sat  down. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Jobsoii.  What  paper?"  said 
Harrington. 

"You  have  not  heard  of  it  then.  I  thought  as  you 
mentioned  Miss  Bell — but  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it. 
You  are  a  friend  of  George  Cleave's,  and  something  must 
be  done  in  his  affairs.  I  think  you  can  help. " 

' '  If  I  can  do  anything  for  George  I'll  certainly  do  it," 
said  Harrington;  "I  went  to  college  with  him — he's  as 
fine  a  fellow  as  I  know.  Tell  me  about  this,  Mr.  Jobson. " 

Mr.  Jobson  proceeded  to  inform  his  companion  of  the 
discovery  of  the  codicil,  and  of  George  Cleave' s  resolu 
tion. 

"He  is  resolved  not  to  contest  the  paper,"  he  added, 
"and  will  not  hear  of  paying  his  addresses  to  Miss  Bell, 
which  results,  I  suppose,  from  his  engagement,  which  I 
have  heard  spoken  of,  with  Miss  Ormby." 

Harrington  shook  his  head. 

"His  engagement  in  that  quarter  is  broken  off.  I 
heard  the  news  this  morning,  and  now  I  know  the  rea- 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  43 

son.  Ormby  Senior  has  found  out  that  poor  George  is 
or  will  be  penniless — was  there  ever  such  a  strange  inci 
dent  as  the  discovery  of  that  paper ! — and  George  is 
shown  to  the  door." 

Mr.  Jobson  nodded. 

"  Then  he  may  be  induced  to  think  of  Miss  Bell." 

Harrington  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  : 

"I'm  afraid  not.  George  Cleave  is  not  that  sort  of 
person.  As  long  as  Miss  Ormby  is  not  to  blame  and 
remains  faithful  to  him  ho  would  not  look  at  another 
woman.  Do  you  know  anything  about  that  ?" 

"  Nothing/'  returned  Mr.  Jobson. 

Harrington  rose,  and  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  puffed  thoughtfully  at  his  cigar. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Mr.  Jobson,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  I'll  go  and  see  George  and  talk  the  matter  over 
with  him.  Perhaps  we  can  devise  some  way  of  getting 
him  out  of  this  ugly  scrape.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  in 
your  profession,  but  in  mine  a  patient's  condition  is 
often  more  favorable  than  it  appears  at  the  first  glance. 
What  must  that  queer  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Cleave,  think 
of  this  eccentric  arrangement  I  wonder  ? — hum  !  hum  ! 
hum!" 

Mr.  Jobson  rose. 

"You  have  struck  out  the  right  course,  Doctor,  and 
just  the  proceeding  I  meant  to  suggest.  George  Cleave 
instructed  me  to  write  to  Gartrell  to  say  that  the  estate 
would  be  surrendered  to  him  immediately,  but  I  don't 
mean  to  be  in  any  hurry  about  it.  The  thing  is  absurd. 
A  compromise  is  the  least,  but  I  am  even  against  that." 


44  PRETTY   MBS.    GASTO^. 

•"You  are  for  fighting  it  out  in  a  chancery  suit,  Mr. 
Jobson  ?"  said  Harrington  laughing. 

"  I  am/'  said  Mr.  Jobson  emphatically,  "  to  the 
death." 

"To  the  death?  A  bad  programme  for  a  doctor  to 
assist  in,  Mr.  Jobson !  but  I  intend  to  assist,  and  to 
make  my  diagnosis  of  the  case  to-morrow  morning  !" 

With  which  understanding  they  parted. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  45 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

A   NEST   OF   DOVES. 

WHILE  engaged  in  the  operation  of  shaving,  on 
the  following  morning,  Balph  Harrington  made 
the  aifairs  of  George  Cleave  the  subject  of  his  reflections, 
and,  after  full  consideration  of  everything,  determined 
to  open  his  campaign  by  a  reconnoissance  first  in  the  di 
rection  of  The  Holiies. 

"  I  know  the  state  of  things  with  Cleave,"  he  said  half 
aloud,  as  he  carefully  wiped  his  razor;  "but  I  would  like 
to  discover,  if  I  can,  the  strength  and  position  of  the 
enemy.  Yes,  Til  go  to  The  Hollies.'7 

Having  decided  upon  this  course,  Dr.  Ralph  Harring 
ton  proceeded  to  breakfast  at  the  village  inn  where  ho 
took  his  meals — his  sleeping  apartment  being  in  the 
same  building  with  his  office — and  then  mounting  his 
horse,  with  his  professional  saddlebags  behind  him,  set 
out  for  The  Hollies,  which  he  reached  about  noon. 

As  he  entered  the  handsome  grounds  of  Mrs.  Gaston's 
residence,  the  lazy,  satirical  smile  habitual  with  him 
came  to  the  face  of  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington ;  for  there, 
affixed  to  a  drooping  bough,  was  the  favorite  steed  of 
Mr.  Daintrees. 


46  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

"My  friend  Jack  don't  mean  to  let  the  grass  grow 
under  his  feet/'  he  muttered  ;  "lie  has  come  to  visit  the 
fair  chatelaine  of  this  castle,xand  I  think  he  shows  his 
taste!" 

The  Hollies  was  in  fact  a  charming  place — a  veritable 
nest  of  doves,  all  flowers,  grass,  and  verdure.  All  about 
the  locality  was  fresh,  bright,  and  attractive.  The  house 
was  a  species  of  cottage,  but  a  cottage  of  very  consider 
able  size,  and  stood  in  the  midst  of  beautiful  grounds. 
Along  three  sides  of  the  building  stretched  a  graceful 
veranda,  edged  with  ornamental  scroll-work  above,  and 
supported  by  slender,  white  pillars ;  and  from  this  veranda 
two  or  three  flights  of  steps  descended  to  the  sward  as 
smooth  as  velvet ;  a  number  of  cedars,  ash-trees,  and  two 
or  three  great  holly  trees  were  scattered  here  and  there, 
with  fantastic  "rustic  seats"  beneath  them;  and  on 
every  side  were  seen  capriciously-shaped  beds  of  autumn 
flowers  ;  lattice-work  trellis.es  covered  with  creeping  plants 
in  bloom,  and  ornamental  baskets  running  over  with 
moss,  ferns,  and  variegated  asters;  a  gravel  carriage-way, 
as  white  and  smooth  as  a  walk,  ran  around  the  green 
circle;  a  neat  coach-house  and  numerous  outbuildings 
were  in  rear ;  a  grove  served  as  a  background,  with  an 
old  garden  next  to  it.  The  Hollies,  you  could  see,  was 
the  residence  of  a  lady,  and  a  lady  exceedingly  "well 
to  do!" 

The  surroundings,  indeed,  of  the  fair  Mrs.  Gaston  ac 
curately  represented  her  "circumstances"  and  her  tastes. 
She  was  the  widow  of  a  gentleman  who  had  resided  in  a 
neighboring  city,  and  on  his  death,  finding  town-life 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  47 

distasteful  to  her,  she  had  purchased  The  Hollies,  made 
great  improvements  in  it,  and  lived  in  the  utmost  com 
fort  upon  her  investments.  She  had  shrunk  at  first  from 
the  idea  of  living  alone,  and  had  nearly  given  tip  her 
project,  when  Mr.  Cleave's  death  had  left  Annie  Bell 
homeless.  Then  Mrs.  Gaston  saw  the  means  of  extricat 
ing  herself  from  her  embarrassment.  Annie's  mother 
had  been  a  distant  relation  of  her  own,  and  having  come 
to  look  at  The  Hollies  just  as  Mr.  Cleave  died,  Mrs. 
Gaston  had  ordered  her  carriage  driven  over  to  Cleave- 
land,  and  brought  Annie  back  with  her  to  live  at  The 
Hollies.  This  event  had  taken  place  three  or  four  years 
before,  when  Annie  was  fourteen  or  fifteen,  and  from 
that  moment  the  two  became  inseparable.  Annie 
promptly  developed  into  a  young  lady  of  unbounded 
gayety,  whose  entrance  into  a  room  was  like  the  sudden 
gleam  of  sunshine ;  and  she  ran  about,  laughed,  teased 
"Auntie,"  as  she  called  Mrs.  Gaston,  from  morning  to 
night,  and  took  command  of  The  Hollies  in  the  most 
arbitrary  manner.  Everything,  indeed,  was  subjected  to 
Miss  Annie  Bell's  sway.  The  servants  smiled  when  she 
appeared,  and  did  not  cease  smiling  when  she  scolded 
them.  The  old  gardener  deferred  to  her,  groaning  his 
protests  against  the  new  li book"  way  of  doing  things, 
but  submitting.  The  dogmatic  old  coachman  actually 
permitted  her  to  lecture  him  upon  the  subject  of  horses ; 
and  as  to  Mrs.  Gaston,  that  mild,  gentle,  and  affectionate 
creature  had  yielded  without  a  struggle  to  her  fate. 
Annie  teased  her,  lectured  her,  scolded  her,  informed  her 
that  she  was  the  most  ridiculous  little  auntie  that  ever 


48  PRETTY    MES.    GASTON". 

lived  ;  and  then  putting  her  arm  around  the  waist  of  the 
pretty  Mrs.  Gaston,  would  drag  her  forth  to  look  at  the 
flowers — sole  passion  in  the  tranquil  liyes  of  these  two 
attractive  specimens  of  feminine  humanity. 

Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  dismounted  just  inside  the 
grounds,  and  was  approaching  the  house  over  a  neat 
gravel  walk  when  Miss  Annie  Bell  came  out  with  a 
watering-pot  in  her  hand  and  a  sun-bonnet  on  her  head. 
She  stopped  suddenly  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  visitor, 
but  came  forward  at  once,  limping  a  little  as  she  walked. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Doctor! " 

She  held  out  her  hand  as  she  spoke,  and  added  smiling : 

"And  Auntie  will  be  as  much  pleased  as  myself." 

Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  took  the  small  hand  and  bowed 
over  it. 

"Will  somebody  else  be  disposed  to  welcome  me  as 
cordially,  Miss  Bell  ?  If  I  am  not  mistaken  I  recognize 
the  horse  of  one  of  my  most  esteemed  friends,  Mr.  Dain- 
trees,  of  that  bachelor  den,  The  Lodge. " 

Harrington  spoke  in  a  tone  of  lazy  amusement  which 
seemed  to  agreeably  impress  Miss  Bell.  She  burst  into  a 
frank  fit  of  laughter,  and  then  assuming  an  extremely 
demure  expression  of  countenance,  said : 

"  Mr.  Daintrees  has  called,  I  believe,  on  business,  and 
I  have  come  out  to  water  my  flowers.  I  hope  you  will 
excuse  my  toilet " 

"No  excuses,  I  beg,  Miss  Bell.  I  am  flattered  at 
being  received  as  a  friend.  No  bad  effects  from  your 
accident,  I  trust  ?  Do  you  know  that  I  am  much  morti 
fied  at  not  having  been  called  in  as  your  physician  ? 


PRETTY    MRS.    GASTON.  49 

Surely  you  need  the  services  of  an  old  and  experienced 
gentleman  like  myself  even  yet  ?" 

Miss  Bell  began  to  laugh  anew. 

"No  indeed.,  sir,"  she  replied.  "I  am  getting  well 
without  medicine.  I  am  very  glad  I  did  not  break  my 
neck,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  you. " 

Harrington  bowed. 

"You  exaggerate  my  heroic  services,  Miss  Bell.  Per 
mit  me  to  relieve  you  of  that  watering-pot." 

He  took  the  watering-pot  from  her  hands,  and  directed 
by  Miss  Annie  Bell,  who  seemed  in  no  degree  averse  to 
the  interview,  thus  tete-d-tete  under  the  trees,  proceeded 
to  water  the  asters.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
they  had  become  extremely  sociable,  and  Dr.  Harrington 
said  casually : 

"  This  is  sad  news  about  my  friend  George  Cleave — 
I  think  you  know  him — he  has  been  jilted  by  Miss 
Ormby." 

Annie  Bell  stopped  training  a  creeping  plant  on  one  of 
the  trellises,  and  turned  round — a  statue  of  surprise. 

"  George  !    Jilted  by  Marian  Ormby  !" 

Harrington,  watching  his  companion  closely  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  eyes,  said  quietly : 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  young  ladies  mean  when 
you  employ  the  term  jilted,  but  men  mean  by  it  that  a 
gentleman  who  has  been  engaged  to  a  lady  and  is  then 
discarded  is  jilted." 

"George  jilted  by  Marian  Ormby!"  repeated  Miss 
Annie  Bell,  too  much  astonished  apparently  to  discuss 
the  etymological  or  social  significance  of  the  term. 


£0  PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOK. 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington  quietly.  "He  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss  Marian,  and  Miss  Marian 
is  not  going  to  marry  him.  I  believe  the  reason  is  that 
there  has  been  some  discovery  of  another  will  or  some 
thing  of  Mr.  Cleave,  Sr.,  giving  his  property  to  a  Mr. 
Gartrell.  So  you  see  there's  no  chance  for  poor  George." 


ANNIE  BELiL   STOPPED  AND  TUKNED  KOTTKD — A  STATUE   OF   SURPRISE. 

Annie  Bell  stood  perfectly  silent  and  motionless,  look 
ing  at  her  companion. 

"Is  it  possible  you  heard  nothing  of  all  this?"  said 
Harrington. 

"  2sfot  one  word." 


PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOX.  51 

"  I  thought  news  flew  faster  in  a  country  neighbor 
hood  !  Yes,  George  is  jilted,  and  what  is  worse — or  at 
least  very  bad — he  is  ruined.  I  am  sorry  to  see,  Miss 
Bell,  that  you  seem  to  take  it  so  much  to  heart." 

"Take  it  to  heart?  Oh!  Dr.  Harrington!  Poor 
George  !  You  do  not  know  how  much  I  love  him  !  Oh  ! 
oh  !  I  do  not  care  about  Marian  Ormby.  I  always  said 
she  was  not  worthy  of  him.  He  is  the  noblest  fellow ! 
I  was  brought  up  with  him,  and  I  loye  him  like  a  sister ; 
and  now  he  is  jilted  and  ruined  !" 

Annie  Bell  completely  lost  sight  of  her  companion, 
and  burst  into  an  honest  flood  of  tears,  which,  unlike  the 
result  of  crying  generally, made  her  look  extremely  pretty. 

"He  shall  have  Tree  Hill,"  she  suddenly  added.  "I 
will  go  and  tell  him  so  this  very  day.  He  is  Jjetter 
entitled  to  it  than  I  am.  Dr.  Harrington,  I  hate  this 
Marian  Ormby  who  has  presumed  to  jilt  my  brother 
George!" 

A  somewhat  singular  circumstance  followed  this  out 
burst.  The  quiet,  easy,  jocose^  self-possessed  Dr.  Kalph 
Harrington  suddenly  colored.  Something  had  plainly 
made  his  heart  beat. 

"I  am  as  much  attached  to  George  Cleave  as  you  are, 
Miss  Bell,"  he  said.  "He  was  the  closest  and  best  friend 
I  had  at  college.  I  am  going  to  see  him  this  very  day, 
and  will  carry  any  message  you  may  desire  to  send  him." 

Annie  Bell  looked  into  her  companion's  face  with  the 
open,  frank,  ardent  glance  of  a  true-hearted  woman,  and 
said  impulsively : 

"  Tell  him  that  he  shall  not  be  ruined  as  long  as  I 


52  PRETTY    MES.    GASTON". 

have  anything  in  the  world,  that  he  shall  have  every 
foot  of  Tree  Hill ;  and  tell  him  that  I  love  him  a  thou 
sand  times  more  in  his  trouble  than  I  ever  loved  him  in 
his  prosperity.7' 

Before  Annie  Bell  was  aware  of  his  intention,  Dr. 
Ralph  Harrington  seized  one  of  her  small  hands  and 
pressed  it  closely  to  his  lips. 

"  Pardon  me  !"  he  said  in  hurried  tones,  very  different 
from  his  ordinary  manner,  "it  is  not  often  that  I  meet 
persons  like  yourself,  Miss  Bell.  Mr.  Cleave  is  fortu 
nate.  I  am  going  now  to  tell  him  that  in  his  disappoint 
ment  and  misfortune  he  has  something  which  is  better 
than  what  the  world  calls  good  fortune — that  he  has 
your  heart. " 

Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  came  out  of  the  house  a  moment 
after  these  words  were  uttered,  and  Dr.  Ralph  Harring 
ton  grew  suddenly  commonplace. 

"  Please  present  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Gaston,  Miss 
Bell.  I  am  truly  rejoiced  to  find  that  you  have  sustained 
no  ill  effects  from  your  accident.  Why,  good-day,  my 
dear  Daintrees  !  I  thought  I  knew  your  horse.  You  are 
going  ?  So  am  I,  and  we  will  ride  together." 

And  after  bowing  low  to  Annie,  Harrington  went  and 
mounted  his  horse,  in  which  proceeding  he  was  imitated 
by  Mr.  Daintrees. 

As  they  rode  out  of  the  grounds  together,  Harrington 
turned  to  his  companion,  and,  surveying  him  with  rather 
satirical  glances  and  a  wicked  smile,  said  : 

"I  thought  something  would  come  of  your  interview 
at  The  Lodge  with  the  fair  madam,  my  dear  Daintrees  !" 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  53 

"  Ah  !  bother  !"  said  Mr.  Daintrees,  "what  an  idea  !" 

( '  Such  things  will  happen/'  said  Ealph  Harrington 
philosophically,  with  his  lazy  smile;  "but  beware,  my 
dear  Daintrees.  You  are  both  young  and  impressible. 
Now  to  the  news  of  the  moment.  This  is  a  bad  business 
of  poor  Cleave's,  which  it  seems  Miss  Bell  had  not  heard 
— his  discardal.  Suppose  we  take  the  youth  in  hand  and 
heal  his  wounds.  Have  you  a  fox-hunt  in  perspective  ? 
Nothing  like  life  and  movement  for  a  lacerated  bosom. " 

ee The  very  thing  !"  said  Daintrees.  "I  am  going  out 
with  the  hounds  on  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Come  your 
self  and  bring  George — my  favorite  of  all  the  youngsters. 
Eemember — on  the  night  before." 

"  I  will ;  if  not,  we  will  be  with  you  before  sunrise." 

They  had  reached  the  forks  of  the  road  where  they 
were  to  separate. 

"A  last  word,  my  dear  Daintrees,"  said  Harrington. 
"I  am  in  a  match-making  humor  to-day,  I  believe.  I 
am  about  to  turn  completely  around.  Why  not  court 
the  fair  widow  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Daintrees  shook  his  head. 

6(  I  am  not  a  marrying  man,  and " 

"  There,  my  dear  Daintrees,  that  is  enough.  It  will 
take  place  in  six  months.  Invite  me — I  will  be  your  first 
groomsman ! " 

And  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  rode  on,  laughing. 


54  PRETTY   MBS.    GASTOK. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


HARKINGTOK   FEELS   HIS    WAY. 

AS  Harrington  rode  up  the  long  avenue  stretching 
from  the  tall  gateway  to  the  imposing  front  of 
the  great  Oleaveland  house,  he  looked  at  the  fa9ade  of 
the  mansion,  bright  in  the  mild  sunshine  of  the  autumn 
afternoon,  and  muttered : 

(l  It  will  never  do  for  G-eorge  to  be  turned  out  of  these 
excellent  headquarters,  if  he  can  help  it,  and  I  think  he 
can.  He  is  right,  I  suppose — at  least  it's  just  like  him — 
not  to  contest  a  paper  expressing  plainly,  if  not  legally, 
his  uncle's  wishes  in  the  disposition  of  the  property ;  but 
why  should  he  not  marry  this  pretty  little  rose-bud  of 
The  Hollies  ?  That  would  suit  exactly ;  and  Mr.  Gartrell 
would  find  himself  disinherited  in  his  turn.  Well,  I  am 
on  a  strange  errand.  I  am  going  to  try  to  marry  off  Miss 
Annie  Bell,  when,  if  I  consulted  my  own  sentiments,  I 
would — pshaw  !  what  folly  !  I  am  like  Jack  Daintrees — • 
or  unlike  him — not  a  marrying  man  ! " 

He  dismounted,  knocked  with  the  butt  of  his  riding- 
whip  on  the  finely  carved  door,  entered  without  waiting, 
and  called  out,  as  he  opened  the  drawing-room  door : 

"  How  are  you,  George  ?" 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  55 

Cleave  rose. 

"  My  dear  Harrington,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  The 
fact  is,  I  was  moping." 

If  Cleave  had  said  raging  internally)  he  would  have 
come  nearer  the  truth.  His  brow  was  lowering  and  his 
lips  set.  Indignation  at  his  treatment  at  Bay  view  had 
quite  supplanted  his  first  sentiment  of  despair. 

"  A  moment,  my  dear  George,"  said  Harrington,  after 
shaking  hands  and  sitting  down.  "How  long  since  have 
you  learned  to  use  my  surname  instead  of  my  Christian 
name  ?  At  college  I  was  Ralph,  as  you  were  George." 

.  "  Well,  Ealph,  pardon  me,  my  dear  friend  ;  the  fact  is 
I  am  out  of  sorts." 

f<  And  I  am  not  surprised." 

"You?" 

"  I  never  criticise  the  proceedings  of  the  ladies,"  said 

Harrington,  "  but  I  must  say  that  your  treatment  by 

shall  I  go  on  ?" 

"Speak  plainly  and  frankly." 

"Well,  your  treatment  by  Miss  Ormby  is  strange — to 
say  the  least.  She's  charming,  I  acknowledge  that,  but 
I  am  your  friend  and  will  say  that  she  has  behaved  most 
singularly — has  she  not  ?" 

Cleave's  face  darkened. 

"  She  has  thrown  me  away  like  a  worthless  kid  glove." 

"  Meaning  that  the  little  hand  that  wore  the  glove  is 
not  for  you,  George,  any  longer,  eh  ?  Well,  believe  me, 
old  fellow,  it  won't  hurt  long  or  amount  to  much,  and  I 
have  come  in  good  time  to  bind  up  your  wounds.  Tell 
me  all  about  it." 


56  PKETTY    MKS.    GASTO^T. 

Cleave  asked  nothing  better.  His  indignation  required 
some  outlet.  He  related  everything,  and  finished  by 
saying : 

' '  So  you  see  the  whole  affair  is  over,  and  I  am  per 
fectly  willing  that  it  should  be  ! " 

Harrington  looked  at  the  flushed  face,  the  disdainful 
lip,  and  the  sparkling  eyes  of  his  friend. 

"Now  is  the  time/'  he  said  to  himself;  "there's 
nothing  like  taking  the  ball  at  the  rebound.  Pique  is 
the  trump  card  ! " 

"Well,  George,"  he  said  with  an  easy  smile,  "your 
treatment  has  been  precisely  such  as  everybody  says  it  has 
been — the  whole  neighborhood  is  talking  about  it  and 
pitying  you,  old  fellow.  I  confess  I  should  not  like,  my 
self,  to  be  pitied;  but  then  nobody  blames  you.  That 
must  be  some  consolation  to  you." 

Cleave  became  suddenly  irate.  All  the  pride  of  his 
nature  was  outraged. 

"No  one  shall  pity  me  !"  he  said. 

"  Spoken  like  a  man !  and  there  is  an  adage  that  as 
good  fish  swim  in  the  sea  as  were  ever  caught  out  of  it. 
You  have  missed  your  mark  this  time,  George ;  feather 
your  shaft  and  shoot  in  some  other  direction." 

Cleave  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  he  said  still  irate;  "I've  enough 
of  the  sex  for  the  present." 

"And  you  won't  marry  ?  Well,  I  think  you  are  right, 
old  fellow.  Nothing  like  the  life  of  a  bachelor,  as  I  had 
the  presumption  to  say  to  a  little  beauty  I  saw  to-day. 
I  mean  Miss  Bell  at  The  Hollies,  and  by  the  by  I  was 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  57 

enough  of  a  gossip  to  allude  to  this  confounded  discovery 
of  Mr.  Cleave's  new  will  and  your  bad  luck  with  Miss 
Ormby.  You  should  have  heard  Miss  Bell  thereupon, 
my  dear  fellow.  She  burst  into  tears,  exclaimed  :  'Dear 
George ! '  and  protested  that  Miss  Ormby  was  f  a  goose 5 
or  something  of  that  sort  for  discarding  you ;  it  was 
either  ' goose'  or  'mercenary.'  Miss  Bell  then  added 
that  you  were  the  only  brother  she  had,  and  that  you 
should  never  want  as  long  as  she  had  anything." 

Cleave's  face  colored  a  little. 

"Annie  is  the  best  girl  I  know,"  he  said ;  " and  I  will 
go  and  thank  her.  I  have  not  been  there  for  a  month." 

Harrington  had  reached  his  aim  with  less  difficulty 
than  he  had  anticipated. 

""Well,  you  could  not  do  a  more  appropriate  thing, 
George,"  he  said  rising,  "  and  I  have  never  seen  anybody 
whose  sympathy  and  affection  would  console  me  more 
than  Miss  Bell's.  She  is  a  treasure  of  beauty,  goodness, 
and  sweetness.  You  see  even  cynical  Ralph  Harrington 
can  be  earnest  sometimes !  and  now  I  must  go,  old  fel 
low;  no,  thank  you,  I  can't  stay." 

Harrington  shook  hands,  drew  on  his  gloves,  and 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"  By  the  by,  George,  Daintrees  invites  you  to  a  fox 
hunt  at  The  Lodge  day  after  to-morrow.  I  am  going 
and  took  the  liberty  of  saying  that  you  would  come. 
Don't  decline.  "We'll  have  a  good  run  and  a  jolly  din 
ner." 

Cleave  refused  and  then  accepted.  It  was  arranged 
that  Harrington  should  call  by  Cleaveland  early  on  the 


58  PEETTT   MRS.    GASTOK. 

morning  fixed,  and  they  should  proceed  together  to  The 
Lodge ;  after  which  the  visitor  took  his  departure. 

Harrington  rode  on  slowly  for  about  a  mile  in  pro 
found  thought.  Then  a  singular  smile  came  to  his  lips 
— a  smile,  half  lazy,  half  satirical,  and  not  without  a 
tinge  of  melancholy. 

"Well,"  he  muttered,  "it  is  hard  to  account  for  the 
actions  of  the  human  species.  Here  I  am  trying  to  bring 
about  a  match  between  Cleave  and  a  young  lady,  which 
young  lady,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  am  beginning  to  fall 
in  love  with  myself ! " 


PRETTY   MRS.    G  ASTON.  59 


CHAPTER    X. 


GEORGE  CLEAVE  AND  HIS 

AFTER  the  departure  of  Ralph  Harrington  George 
Cleave  fell  back  into  his  mood  of  anger  and  mel 
ancholy — weary  of  himself,  of  life,  of  his  past,  present, 
and  future.  The  sight  of  the  familiar  objects  around 
him  was  quite  hateful  to  him,  and  he  muttered  : 

"How  am  I  to  get  through  this  stupid,  wretched, 
dragging  day  !  I'll  go  to  The  Hollies,  I  believe.  I  want 
a  little  sympathy,  and  am  certain  to  find  it  there !  At 
least  the  ride  will  divert  me  from  this  eternal  brooding, 
and  the  only  thing  for  me  now  is  to  forget. " 

He  ordered  his  riding  horse,  and  slowly  mounted  with 
a  weary  air,  very  different  from  his  habitual  vivacity. 
Once  in  the  saddle,  however,  he  went  on  at  full  gallop, 
and  about  sunset  reached  The  Hollies.  Let  us  precede 
him. 

Annie  Bell  having  bestowed  a  little  nod  of  amicable 
farewell  upon  Dr.  Harrington  and  Mr.  Daintrees — which 
movement  caused  her  ringlets  to  momentarily  obscure 
her  vision — had  hastened  into  The  Hollies,  and  met  Mrs. 
Gaston  at  the  door. 


60  PEETTY   MRS.    GASTOX. 

"Oh!  my  dear  little  auntie!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
have  a  good  joke  to  tease  you  about  at  last !  Mr.  Bain- 
trees  !  Who  would  have  imagined  such  a  thing !  He's 
going  to  be  my  '  Uncle  Jack/  I  hope  !" 

"What  a  goose  you  are,  Annie  !"  replied  Mrs.  Gaston, 
with  a  faint  little  blush  which  made  her  look  extremely 
pretty.  "You  know  very  well  Mr.  Daintrees  came  to 
inquire  about  your  sprain  ! " 

"  And  never  looked  at  me  !  Besides,  he  said  he  came 
on  business — business  !" 

"  I  had  quite  forgotten — there  was  a  message  from  Mr. 
Jobson  about  the  small  tract  I  wish  to  purchase." 

"And  so  Mr.  Daintrees  is  not  going  to  become  my 
Uncle  Jack  after  all!"  said  the  small  witch,  pretending 
to  sigh  and  look  disconsolate. 

"  What  an  idea  !  I  should  be  much  more  rational  if  I 
were  to  ask  if  Dr.  Harrington  came  with  the  view  of 
proposing  to  become  my  nephew." 

"Dr.  Harrington!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Propose  for  me!" 

Mrs.  Gaston  smiled  and  said  : 

"You  forget  your  romantic  adventure,  and  that  he 
saved  your  life,  Annie.  You  have  only  to  read  love 
romances,  my  dear,  to  find  that  these  incidents  generally 
lead  to — catastrophes." 

"You  are  certainly  dreaming — yes,  dreaming  and  talk 
ing  in  your  sleep  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Bell ;  "  and  of  all  the 
absurd  little  aunties  that  ever  lived " 

"Why,  you  really  are  blushing,  Annie  !" 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  61 

"  Fiddle-dedee  !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  pirouetting  upon 
the  point  of  her  slipper,  and  carrying  the  smiling  Mrs. 
Gaston  with  her  in  her  rotary  motion  by  means  of  the 
arm  around  the  fair  widow's  waist.  "  I  am  not  blushing 
in  the  least,  having  the  best  conscience  in  the  world, 
madam,  and  nothing  to  blush  for.  Dr.  Harrington  !" 

"You  were  talking  very  confidentially  with  him,  my 
dear.  I  saw  you  through  the  window. " 

"It  was  all  about  George  !  Oh  !  the  dreadful  news, 
Auntie  !  Come  and  sit  down,  I  must  tell  you  all  about 
it.  Marian  Ormby— hateful  thing— has  jilted  him,  and 
a  new  will  is  found  giving  Cleaveland  to  Allan  Gartrell !" 

"Is  it  possible?" 

"Yes,  indeed;  Dr.  Harrington  told  me.  Oh!  poor, 
poor  George  !  To  think,  Auntie  !  he  is  all  alone  by  him 
self  at  Cleaveland — jilted  and  ruined  !  Marian  Ormby  ! 
— presume  to  jilt  George ! — I  wish  he  would  ask  me.  I 
would  marry  him  in  a  minute,  whether  Cleaveland  was 
his  or  not !" 

Thereupon  Annie  burst  into  tears  and  ran  up-stairs, 
forgetting  her  sprained  foot.  When  she  came  down  to 
dinner  her  eyes  were  swollen,  and  it  was  not  until  about 
sunset  that  she  resumed  her  cheerfulness  in  some  degree, 
and  went  out  to  look  again  at  her  dear  flowers. 

Mrs.  Gaston  joined  her,  and  the  setting  sun  bathed 
the  attractive  figures  in  its  mild  light — Annie,  a  slender, 
graceful  little  sprite,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  glossy  brown 
ringlets ;  her  companion,  pink,  plump,  with  a  bow  of 
ribbon  half  hiding  her  pretty  neck,  and  on  her  lips  the 
modest,  shrinking  smile  which  they  habitually  wore. 


62  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf. 

George  Cleave  and  his  misfortunes  again  became  the 
topic  of  conversation,  and  Annie  had  just  exclaimed 
impetuously,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "Any  girl  might  be 
proud  to  marry  my  dear  George  ! "  when  the  dear  George 
in  question  rode  into  the  grounds,  and  dismounting 
came  to  meet  his  cousin — for  such  was  Mrs.  Gaston,  as 
we  have  said — and  his  adopted  sister.  The  young  man 
was  received  by  both  with  an  affectionate  kiss — his  habit 
in  boyhood — and  was  struck,  in  spite  of  himself,  by  the 
beauty  and  emotion  of  Annie. 

"I  see,  Cousin,"  he  said  gloomily,  although  he  at 
tempted  to  utter  a  light  laugh,  "that  you  and  Annie 
have  heard  of  my  misfortunes  !  "Well,  I  am  not  going  to 
marry — anybody;  and  I  am  quite  ruined.  You  see,  I 
have  come  home  for  comfort." 

"And  you  shall  have  it,  George!"  Mrs.  Gaston  said 
with  impulsive  affection.  "We  have  heard  of  every 
thing,  and  it  made  our  hearts  bleed  for  you,  my  dear." 

George  shook  his  head,  and  said  proudly  : 

"You  must  not  take  it  so  seriously,  Cousin.  I  am 
not  as  much  distressed  as  you  may  think.  And  now 
come  and  let  us  sit  down  on  the  porch.  I  will  tell  you 
and  my  little  sister  everything." 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  Cleave  had  narrated  all,  not 
omitting,  as  Harrington  had  done,  the  singular  condi 
tion  in  the  codicil. 

"  You  see,  I  am  to  marry  you,  Annie,"  he  said  laugh 
ing,  "or  give  up  Cleaveland  !" 

Annie  colored  a  little,  but  suddenly  laughed  in  her 
turn,  and  exclaimed : 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  63 

"  Well,  then,  sir — why  not  keep  Cleaveland?" 

"Annie!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gaston. 

"What,  Auntie  ?"  said  Miss  Annie  demurely. 

"You  must  remember,  my  dear,  that  although  you 
call  George  your  brother,  he  is  not  related  to  you,  and 
that  he  may  accept  your  liberal  proposal !" 

General  laughter  followed  this  speech,  and  the  slight 
cloud  of  embarrassment  which  had  succeeded  the  young 
lady's  audacious  speech  was  dissipated. 

"You  are  two  very  ridiculous  young  people,"  said 
pretty  Mrs.  Gaston,  smiling  and  blushing ;  "  and  now 
come  in  to  tea." 

Cleave  remained  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  then  wag 
easily  persuaded  that  The  Hollies  was  a  much  more 
cheerful  place  than  Cleaveland  whereat  to  spend  the 
night.  The  hours  passed  in  the  society  of  these  two 
charming  persons  had  indeed  proved  an  inexpressible 
comfort  to  him.  This  young  man  was  not  of  that  stern 
and  resolute  stuff  of  which  novelists  construct  their 
" heroes."  He  was  warm-hearted,  honest,  impulsive, 
and  easily  impressed.  He  was  unhappy,  and  the  faces 
full  of  affectionate  sympathy  were  a  balm  to  him. 

He  and  Annie  had  indulged  indeed  in  something  like 
a  tete-d-ttte,  Mrs.  Gaston  pretending  to  have  her  house 
keeping  to  attend  to.  She  accordingly  remained  for 
some  time  in  the  adjoining  apartment,  rattling  spoons 
and  ranging  the  silver  service  with  unusual  deliberation 
on  the  polished  mahogany  sideboard.  From  time  to  time 
she  glanced  through  the  half-open  door  at  George  and 
Annie,  seated  side  by  side  upon  a  sofa,  in  confidential 


64  PRETTY   MES.    GASTOK. 

conversation  ;  and  the  pair  brought  to  the  pretty  face  of 
Mrs.  Gaston  a  covert  smile. 

Had  the  fair  widow  suddenly  conceived  a  domestic 
plot — arranged  the  scenes  of  a  little  comedy  in  which 
George  and  Annie  should  perform  the  chief  parts,  with  a 
marriage  for  the  denouement  ?  Match-making  is  said  to 
be  a  weakness  of  all  good  women  past  thirty ;  and  here 
seemed  to  be  suddenly  presented  to  Mrs.  Gaston  an  op 
portunity  to  indulge  this  darling  propensity.  There  was 
in  her  eyes  absolutely  no  objection  whatever  to  such  a 
match,  and  everything  to  recommend  it.  She  loved 
George  sincerely ;  and  by  marrying  Annie  he  would  pre 
serve  his  estate.  It  was  true  that  she,  Mrs.  Gaston, 
would  lose  her  little  companion — but  the  widow  was  a 
most  unselfish  person.  She  had  often  reflected  with 
anxiety  upon  Annie's  future,  in  case  of  her  own  death ; 
had  resolved  not  to  oppose  any  suitable  match  which 
offered  itself — and  here  was  the  opportunity  of  securing 
the  happiness  of  her  dear  Annie.  That  such  was  the 
plan  of  Mrs.  Gaston,  subsequent  events  seemed  to  indicate. 

George  fell  asleep  that  night  at  The  Hollies,  surprised 
to  find  that  he  had  actually  passed  a  happy  evening. 
Annie  had  certainly  grown  a  beauty,  suddenly — what  a 
tender  and  sympathetic  smile  she  had  !  what  a  luxury  it 
was  to  have  a  little  sister  who  looked  at  him  with  those  • 
large,  soft,  beautiful  eyes,  weighed  down  by  tears  as  she 

spoke  of  his  troubles ! and  (with  the   eyes,  which 

were  fast  shut  in  the  next  room,  still  looking  at  him) 
George  fell  asleep. 

He  remained  at  The  Hollies  on  the  next  day  until 


PItETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  65 

noon;  and  then  promising  to  repeat  his  visit,  took  his 
leave.  Instead  of  going  back  to  Gleaveland,  however,  he 
rode  to  Waterford,  and  entered  Ralph  Harrington's  office 
just  as  that  gentleman  was  compounding  a  prescription. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  my  dear  fellow?"  said 
Harrington;  "if  I  were  called  upon  to  express  a  physio 
logical  opinion  I  should  say  that  you  had  grown  about 
five  years  younger  since  I  saw  you  yesterday." 

"I  have  been  riding,  and  that  gives  color  and  good 
spirits,  you  know,  Ealph  !" 

Cleave  laughed  almost  gaily.  Harrington  looked  at  him. 

"  You  have  been  to  The  Hollies,"  he  said. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"From  your  face;  and  the  angels  there  have  consoled 
you." 

This  was  said  rather  ruefully,  but  Harrington  quickly 
resumed  his  lazy  smile  and  said  : 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  pay  your  addresses  to  -Miss 
Bell  ?" 

"/court  Annie?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  We  are  like  brother  and  sister." 

"Without,  however,  being  in  the  least  related.  Well, 
what  of  that  ?  All  the  better.  Why  shouldn't  you  court 
her  ?  To  speak  by  the  card,  old  fellow,  she  is  the  finest 
girl  in  the  county;  you  will  make  her  a  present  of 
Cleaveland  on  the  day  of  your  marriage  ;  she  will  marry 
you,  I  think,  and  perhaps  the  Ormbys  will  then  realize 
the  fact  that  they  have  been  a  little  hard  on  you. " 

Cleave's  cheek  flushed  red. 


66  PRETTY  MRS.    GASTO^. 

"No,"  he  said,  "the  thing  would  be  disgraceful, 
Ralph.  To  offer  myself  to  Annie  to  retain  possession  of 
this  property  !  I  would  rather  starve  ! " 

' '  Come,"  said  Harrington,  "  don't  act  on  sublimated 
grounds.  Or  if  you  are  a  shrinking,  sensitive,  timid 
young  person,  fearing  the  gossip  of  shallowpates  more 
than  a  good  conscience,  surrender  Cleaveland  to  Gartrell. 
But  that  need  not  prevent  you  from  asking  the  little 
beauty  of  The  Hollies  to  become  Mrs.  dleave." 
"What  do  you  mean,  Ealph?" 

"I  mean  that  you  are  a  full-grown  man  in  perfect 
health,  have  your  profession,  and  have  as  perfect  a  right 
to  propose  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Annie  Bell,  as  if  you 
were  the  possessor  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  buildings  in 
the  heart  of  Broadway." 
Cleave  did  not  reply. 

"  Look  at  the  affair  in  a  business  point  of  view,"  con 
tinued  Harrington  :  "  Miss  Bell  has  the  estate  of  '  Free 
Hill/  and  whether  you  are  rich  or  poor  can  want  noth 
ing,  which  is  something  in  this  ticklish  matter  of  matri 
mony,  George !  It  will  not  be  an  unfair  offer — your 
income  against  Miss  Bell's.  Go  and  court  her.  It  will 
make  the  Ormbys  furious ;  and  you  will  be  happy  in 
spite  of  them." 

The  pride  and  pique  of  the  young  man  were  touched, 
and  responded.  His  face  flushed;  and  Annie's  smile 
came  to  his  mind. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  make  a  foolish 
speech.  I  will  think  of  what  you  say,  and  if  I  give  up 
Cleaveland  no  one  can  say  I  was  mercenary." 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK.  67 

"  Certainly  not." 

"We  will  talk  over  this  again,  Balph." 
"All  right.     Think  of  it  and  try  your  luck.     And, 
stop  !—  if  you  fail  I  think  I'll  try  myself  !" 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  Ealph  ?    It  is  not  possible  that 


"Are  jesting  for  my  private  amusement  here  among 
my  gallipots  ?  Certainly  I  am  !  Do  you  think  if  I  cared 
anything  for  the  fair  one  that  I  would  be  giving  you  all 
this  good  advice?" 

Harrington  laughed  heartily  ;  lit  a  cigar  in  the  laziest 
manner;  and  it  was  not  until  the  door  had  closed  on 
Cleave  that  his  face  grew  a  little  gloomy,  and  he  mut 
tered  : 

"This  goes  a  little  harder  against  the  grain  than  I 
supposed  !" 


68  PEETTY   MRS.    GASTO]ST. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


THE    RESULT    OF    BEEAKI^G    OKE'S    LEG. 

4  SOMEWHAT  curious  but  perfectly  natural  revul- 
i~\  sion  now  took  place  in  the  feelings  of  Dr.  Ralph 
Harrington,  and  he  became  convinced  that  he  was  pro 
ceeding  in  a  very  absurd  manner  in  thus  endeavoring  to 
persuade  his  friend  Cleave  to  change  his  fealty,  and 
transfer  his  affections  from  Miss  Marian  Ormby  to  Miss 
Annie  Bell.  Was  it  not  highly  discreditable  in  himself 
to  thus  cooperate  in  an  affair  which  must  reflect  so  little 
honor  upon  his  friend  ?  Could  he  justify  his  conduct, 
even  as  a  friend  of  Miss  Bell,  whom  he  sought  thus  to 
push  into  what  must  be,  in  substance,  a  mercenary 
match  ? 

In  other  words,  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  had,  in  the 
most  rapid  and  unexpected  manner,  fallen  in  love  with 
the  young  beauty  of  The  Hollies  ;  and  it  was  with  rather 
rueful  feelings  that  he  set  out  early  on  the  appointed 
morning  to  accompany  Cleave  to  the  fox-hunt.  He  fore 
saw  that  the  subject  of  Miss  Annie  Bell  would  be  dwelt 
upon,  and  he  was  not  mistaken.  He  found  George 
Cleave  ready,  and  they  rode  on  toward  The  Lodge. 

"After  all,  Ralph,"  said  the  young  man,  who  had 
again  become  rather  gloomy;  "I  don't  see  if  I  fancy 


PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  CO 

Annie,  and  she  fancies  me,  why — if  I  surrender  Cleavc- 
land There  he  stopped. 

"No  reason,"  was  the  brief  reply  of  Harrington,  in  a 
somewhat  curt  tone  of  voice. 

"  I  need  something  to  divert  my  mind — I  am  wretched 
enough.  Yes,  I'll  take  your  advice,  I  think,  and  'try.'" 

At  that  moment  Ealph  Harrington  experienced  very 
unchristian  sentiments  toward  his  companion.  ee  To 
divert  his  mind  ! " 

"Well— try  !"  he  grunted. 

George  Cleave  was  too  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  to 
observe  the  tone  of  his  friend. 

"There  will  at  least  be  no  deception  or  false  profes 
sions  in  the  matter,"  Cleave  added. 

And  as  they  were  now  in  sight  of  The  Lodge,  the  con 
versation  ceased. 

An  extremely  gay  company  had  assembled,  and  Mr. 
Jack  Daintrees  did  the  honors  of  his  breakfast-table  in 
the  most  cordial  and  jovial  manner.  Then  there  was  a 
great  tramping  of  feet,  jingling  of  spurs,  and  blowing  of 
horns,  to  which  the  hoarse  bay  of  the  hounds  came  as  an 
echo.  The  fox-hunters  mounted;  the  dogs  were  un 
leashed  ;  even  the  game  was  started  from  a  copse  near  at 
hand ;  and  the  chase  opened  with  ardor. 

Four  hours  afterwards  a  light  country  wagon  moved 
slowly  and  carefully  through  the  gateway  of  The  Hollies, 
and  this  wagon  contained  the  nearly  inanimate  form  of 
George  Cleave.  In  attempting  to  clear  a  wide  ravine  not 
far  from  The  Hollies,  his  jaded  horse  had  fallen  short  of 
the  opposite  bank,  clung  to  the  edge  a  moment  with  his 


70  PRETTY   MHS.    GASTOK. 

fore  feet,  and  ended  by  falling  back,  rolling  over  his 
rider,  and  kicking  him  so  severely  as  to  produce  a  serious 
and  most  painful  fracture  of  the  bone  of  one  of  his  legs. 
Dr.  Ealph  Harrington  had  been  at  some  distance  from 
the  spot,  riding  with  a  reckless  spur,  as  he  had  been 
observed  to  do  throughout  the  entire  hunt.  Seeing  his 
friend  fall,  he  had  stopped  suddenly,  however,  hastened 
to  his  aid,  and  extricating  him  from  his  dangerous  posi 
tion,  had  promptly  rendered  him  professional  assistance. 
A  light  wagon  was  passing,  and  this  had  been  engaged  to 
convey  the  young  man  to  The  Hollies,  not  a  mile  distant, 
which  the  vehicle  soon  reached,  escorted  by  Dr.  Harring 
ton. 

The  ladies  duly  went  through  all  the  forms  of  exclama 
tion,  agitation,  sympathy,  and  George  was  taken  to  bed. 
Dr.  Harrington  then  proceeded  to  set  the  limb,  to  apply 
the  bandages,  and  administer  an  anodyne.  George 
Cleave,  who  had  opened  his  eyes  during  the  bandaging 
process,  now  closed  them  again,  and  under  the  effect  of 
the  anodyne  fell  into  uneasy  slumber. 

Harrington  then  went  down-stairs,  and  found  himself 
subjected  to  an  agitated  cross-examination  upon  the  in 
cident  and  the  extent  of  the  danger. 

"There  is  no  serious  danger,  my  dear  madam,"  said 
the  young  physician,  "if  proper  care  is  taken,  and  the 
case  be  treated  with  attention.  As  Mr.  Cleave  is  my  in 
timate  friend  I  shall  spare  no  efforts  to  effect  a  speedy 
cure.  The  only  danger  is  in  the  event  of  amputation 
which — to  be  frank — may  become  necessary. " 

This  was  sad  comfort ;  and  Mrs.  Gaston  and  Annie  re- 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOJT.  71 

ceived  the  announcement  with  some  silent  tears.  Then 
the  doctor  took  his  leave,  promising  to  call  again  at 
night. 

George  slept  until  sunset,  and  then  opened  his  eyes. 
Mrs.  Gaston  and  Annie  were  in  the  room.  It  was  a 
cordial  to  him  to  see  their  faces  full  of  love  and  sympathy, 
and  the  smile  of  his  friend  Ralph  was  soon  added. 

"You  had  a  bad  fall,  George,"  said  Ralph 'Harrington 
cheerily,  "but  you  are  doing  excellently.  Your  leg  is 
fractured,  but  not  a  compound  fracture.  You  see  I  tell 
you  the  worst,  and  think  I  can  promise  that  you'll  be  in 
the  saddle  again  in  a  month  or  two." 

"Oh  no,  Doctor!  no!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gaston, 
"George  must  not  be  imprudent!  and  you  must  not 
deprive  us  of  him ;  you  know  he  will  be  such  a  comfort 
to  us  this  winter ! " 

Dr.  Harrington  carefully  avoided  looking  toward  An 
nie,  but  he  listened  acutely.  Annie  said  nothing.  But 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  she  was  looking,  he  soon 
saw,  with  a  face  full  of  sad  sweetness  at  the  invalid. 

A  month  after  these  events  George  Cleave  had  risen 
from  his  sick  bed,  put  on  a  handsome  dressing-gown, 
lined  with  red  silk  and  decorated  with  a  golden  cord  and 
tassel — made  for  him  by  his  two  guardian  angels — slowly 
descended  to  the  drawing-room  ;  and  one  evening  about 
twilight  was  sitting  beside  Annie  on  the  sofa,  holding 
Miss  Annie  Bell's  hand. 

The  expression  of  the  young  lady's  face  was  singular. 
It  was  sorrowful,  tender,  a  little  angry,  with  a  decided 
expression  of  pique,  and,  with  the  rest,  mingled  an 


72  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOjS". 

hesitating,  doubtful,  altogether  agitated  look,  which  had 
evidently  been  occasioned  by  some  statement  from  her 
companion. 

f(  So  Dr.  Harrington  advised  you,  did  he,  George  ?" 

"Yes,  Annie." 

"You  are  then  close  friends?" 

"He's  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world." 

Annie  turned  her  head  aside  a  little,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice : 

"I  am  not  very  sure  that  he  proved  himself  such  on 
this  occasion.  There  is  nothing  in  me  to  make  it  worth 
any  one's  while  to  think  of  me,  George  ! " 

The  young  man  responded  by  protestations  which  it  is 
unnecessary  to  repeat.  Then  he  calmed  down,  and  said 
earnestly : 

"If  there  is  nothing  in  you,  Annie,  what  is  there  in 
me  ?  I  am  a  poor,  unhappy  fellow,  not  worth  attention, 
and  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  why  you  and  cousin  should 
have  thought  me  worth  troubling  yourselves  about;  better 
have  let  me  die  of  my  hurt.  I  am  nobody — all  my  merit 
is  that  I  love  you  dearly,  and  I  think  without  you  I 
would  rather  die  now  ! " 

"0  George!" 

"What  have  I  to  live  for  without  you  ?  I  am  poor, 
very  poor — for  I  shall  give  up  Oleaveland.  I  have  written 
to  Allan  Gartrell,  and  I  have  before  me  no  future  but 
one  of  dull,  hopeless,  cheerless  toil  to  make  my  bread. 
I  am  no  fit  match  for  my  dear  Annie — I  know  that — but 
I  must  tell  you  all  the  same  that  I  love  you  with  my 
whole  heart.  I  am  so  lonely  and  unhappy — even  Ealph 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  73 

Harrington  in  his  solitary  office  is  twice  as  fortunate  as 
I  am » 

"And  he  urged  you,  George,  to — address  me?"  fal 
tered  Annie. 

"Yes,  yes,  warmly." 

Annie  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"He  thought  it  would  be  the  happiest  event  of  my 
life,  and  urged  me  when  I  objected — I  must  ( try'  at  all 
events.  Well,  Annie,  I  have  tried.  I  have  told  you  how 
much,  how  dearly  I  love  you  !  that  I  am  very  unhappy 
and  need  your  dear  smile  to  brighten  my  life  I  Tell  me 
at  least  that  you  love  your  poor  George  a  little  ! " 

He  stopped,  blushing  and  faltering.  The  night  de 
scended.  There  was  no  light  in  the  room  but  that  from 
the  wood  fire,  before  which,  in  the  homely  country 
fashion,  a  tea-kettle  was  simmering.  The  whole  apart 
ment  was  a  picture  of  home,  and  George  Cleave  and  Annie 
Bell  were  sitting  close  beside  each  other — the  excellent 
Mrs.  Gaston  having  carefully  remained  up-stairs.  Annie 
began  to  pout  a  little.  Then  she  cried  silently.  George 
Cleave  drew  her  pretty  head  with  its  glossy  ringlets 
toward  him,  and  leaned  his  pale  cheek  against  her  roses. 
Then  he  turned  her  face  toward  him,  and  Miss  Annie 
permitted  herself  to  be  kissed. 

When  Mrs.  Gaston  came  down  at  last,  coughing  ela 
borately  and  rattling  the  knob  of  the  door  before  enter 
ing,  Miss  Annie  Bell  went  up-stairs,  and  George  Cleave, 
with  a  face  lit  up  by  his  happiness,  said  : 

"  Cousin,  Annie  and  I  arc  engaged,  and  hope  you  will 
give  your  consent ! " 


74  PBETTY  MRS.    GASTON. 


CHAPTEE    XII. 

MR.    BROWK. 

ONE  summer  evening  in  the  year  succeeding  these 
events  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington  came  out  of  his 
office,  and  placing  upon  the  door  a  card  containing  the 
words  "  Will  return  in  half  an  hour/'  locked  the  door, 
and  went  over  to  the  village  tavern  to  tea. 

Harrington  was  considerably  thinner,  and  not  so  ruddy, 
which  may  have  been  attributable  to  the  sultry  weather. 
His  step  was  not  so  firm  and  jaunty,  and  his  lips  had 
lost  their  lazy  smile  of  easy  good-humor,  betraying 
formerly  his  health  of  body  and  tranquillity  of  mind. 
A  close  inspection  indicated  other  changes.  His  eyes 
had  black  semi-circles  beneath  them,  and  their  expression 
was  uneasy  and  even  painful.  The  mild  and  friendly 
light  had  faded  from  them  as  the  smile  had  faded  from 
the  lips.  There  was  nevertheless  no  indication  of  weak 
ness  in  the  face  or  figure.  The  walk  was  deliberate,  the 
muscles  of  the  countenance  were  firm,  and  the  air  of  the 
man  cool  and  composed.  Something  had  evidently 
preyed  upon  his  mind ;  but  the  resolute  Ealph  Harring 
ton  was  as  resolute  as  ever. 

He  went  to  the  tavern,  and  was  just  entering  when  the 


.  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  75 

stage  from  the  railroad  station  nearly  twenty  miles  dis 
tant — for  Waterford  was  out  of  the  great  routes  of 
travel — clattered  up  to  the  door.  It  was  a  heavy  old- 
fashioned  vehicle,  with  the  baggage  behind,  beneath  a 
leathern  apron.  The  jaunty  driver  cracked  his  whip, 
touched  his  off  leader,  resetted  and  gallantly  prancing, 
and  the  stage  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  tavern  enveloped 
in  a  cloud  of  dust,  from  which  emerged  two  or  three  pas 
sengers. 

Among  these  one  attracted  the  attention  of  Harring 
ton.  He  was  a  portly  personage  of  fifty-five  or  sixty, 
and  wore  a  brown  travelling  suit  and  a  tall  black  beaver 
hat.  The  face  under  the  hat  was  rubicund  and  jocose 
in  expression,  but  a  certain  keenness  in  the  glance  of  the 
stranger  seemed  to  contradict  this  easy  and  careless  de 
meanor.  He  flourished  a  large  polished  cane  with  the 
air  of  one  well  to  do  and  used  to  taking  his  ease;  and  be 
stowed  upon  the  group  of  village  wiseacres  at  the  door  of 
the  tavern  an  amiable  smile,  which  seemed  to  say,  "Well, 
here  I  am,  my  friends ;  you  see  before  you  a  gentleman 
of  respectability  and  means — nothing  underhanded,  all 
above  board  ! " 

When  the  landlord  bowed  and  presented  the  portly 
gentleman  with  a  pen,  pushing  at  'the  same  time  the 
register  before  him  for  his  signature,  the  portly  gentle 
man  said,  smiling : 

"Ah  yes!" 

And  he  inscribed  upon  the  page  the  name  and  address : 

"John  Brown,  New  York." 

As  he  laid  down  the  pen,  Mr.  Brown's  face  expanded 


76  PKETTY  MRS.    GASTON. 

into  a  more  amiable  smile  than  before,  and  gently  caress 
ing  his  chin  with  his  fat  hand,  he  said  to  the  landlord  : 

"  Can  you  inform  me,  my  friend,  how  far  Mr.  Allan 
Gartrell  lives  from  this  place  ?  " 

"  But  a  short  distance,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "His  place 
is  called  Cleaveland,  and  a  very  fine  place  it  is.  I  will 
have  you  driven  there  if " 

' '  Yes,  yes,  thank  you.  To-morrow.  A  little  purchase 
of  land  is  in  view.  The  timber  is  said  to  be  very  fine  on 
the  river,  and  a  lumber  company  in  New  York,  whose 
agent  I  am,  wish  to  make  arrangements  with  Mr.  Gar 
trell — but  this  will  not  interest  you,  my  dear  sir.  A  very 
fine  place  you  have  here  !  I  particularly  admired  your 
new  church — hem  ! — and  now,  my  friend,  a  room,  and 
some  supper  if  convenient." 

The  landlord  bowed  to  his  respectable  guest,  gave  an 
order  to  a  servant,  who  ducked  his  head  with  the  ela 
borate  politeness  of  the  American  "help"  when  there  is 
a  prospect  of  coin,  and  Mr.  Brown  disappeared,  leaving 
the  wiseacres  to  discuss  him.  He  had  kindly  furnished 
them  with  a  few  data,  as  the  reader  has  seen — taking 
compassion  upon  their  painful  ignorance.  He  was  Mr. 
Brown,  of  New  York,  agent  of  a  lumber  company  who 
wished  to  purchase  timber  land  from  Mr.  Gartrell,  pro 
prietor  of  Cleveland  ;  and  the  village  worthies  discussed 
this  interesting  fact  for  half  an  hour,  agreed  that  Mr. 
Brown  was  a  respectable  old  fellow,  evidently  well  to  do 
in  his  circumstances ;  then  they  proceeded  to  muddle 
their  brains  with  toddy  at  the  bar,  and  retired. 

Harrington  had  found  his  eyes  persistently  wandering 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  77 

toward  Mr.  Brown.  He  was  puzzling  himself  with  a  de 
tail  which  seemed  to  have  escaped  the  Tillage  critics — 
the  queer  glance  from  Mr.  Brown's  eyes  now  and  then ; 
a  glance  which  seemed  to  contradict  flatly  the  apparent 
bonhomie  and  carelessness  of  the  rest  of  his  personal  de 
meanor.  What  did  that  glance  mean  ?  Never  was  any 
thing  more  piercing. 

"Well,"  he  muttered  listlessly,  " here  I  am  worrying 
my  mind  with  a  matter  of  no  earthly  importance  to  me, 
and  probably  indulging  in  nothing  but  a  foolish  fancy. 
I'll  go  up  and  see  George.  I've  not  met  him  to-day." 

And  Harrington  sauntered  out  and  then  up-stairs — not 
walking  with  his  old  elastic  step,  but  heavily  and  firmly. 

On  the  next  morning  Mr.  Brown  made  his  appearance 
at  breakfast,  the  picture  of  health,  enjoyment,  and  good-, 
nature.  He  smiled  on  everybody,  called  the  servants  by 
their  names,  and  having  finished  his  meal,  declared 
audibly  that  it  was  excellent.  An  hour  afterwards  he 
was  on  his  way,  in  the  landlord's  open  carriage,  toward 
Cleavelaiid,  which  he  reached  in  about  two  hours. 

"A  fine  place;  a  very  fine  place,  indeed !"  said  Mr. 
Brown  as  they  drove  up  the  long  avenue.  "Mr.  Gartrell 
is  indeed  a  fortunate  individual." 

"Yes,  sah,"  was  the  reply  of  the  darky  driver,  from 
whom  Mr.  Brown  had  extracted  on  the  way  every  known 
detail  in  reference  to  the  owner  of  Cleaveland. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  the  great  portico,  and  the 
driver  got  down,  walked  up  the  broad  steps,  and  knocked. 
A  servant  in  elegant  livery  appeared.  Was  Mr.  Gartrell 
at  home  ?  Mr.  Gartrell  was  at  breakfast — information 


78  PEETTY    MRS.    GASTOK. 

which,  the  liveried  servant  furnished  in  a  somewhat 
supercilious  tone. 

' '  Give  him  my  respects,  and  say  Mr.  Brown,  of  New 
York,  has  called  to  see  him." 

The  servant  hesitated,  but  ended  by  carrying  the  mes 
sage.  In  five  minutes  he  came  back  with  the  message 
that  Mr.  Gartrell  was  at  breakfast — Mr.  Brown  could 
call  again. 

Mr.  Brown  smiled,  but  did  not  make  any  reply. 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  breast,  drew  out  a  visiting 
card,  took  a  pencil  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  wrote 
upon  the  card. 

"  Give  this  to  Mr.  Gartrell,"  he  said  to  the  servant, 
who  took  the  card,  went  in,  and  closed  the  door. 

"Will  you  go  back  to  "Waterf  ord,  sah  ?"  said  the  driver. 

"Not  yet,  my  friend,"  was  the  smiling  reply;  "per 
haps  Mr.  Gartrell  may  see  me  after  all." 

Mr.  Brown  had  already  descended  from  the  vehicle, 
and  was  taking  out  his  purse. 

"I  know  Mr.  Gartrell  will  not  turn  me  away,  after 
all,"  he  said,  with  his  eternal  smile;  "here  is  the 
amount  of  my  indebtedness  to  your  master,  my  friend, 
and  something  for  yourself." 

The  money  was  received  with  bows  and  grins. 

"I  will  remain  with  Mr.  Gartrell,  probably,  to-night. 
You  can  go  back." 

And  Mr.  Brown  composedly  walked  up  the  broad  steps, 
flourishing  his  cane.  A  moment  afterwards  he  had 
passed  through  the  broad  door,  which  the  same  servant 
opened,  and  it  closed  behind  him. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  79 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


WHICH    BRINGS    UP    THE     NARRATIVE. 

THE  fine  estate  of  Cleaveland  had  come  into  posses 
sion  of  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  early  in  the  spring. 

Dissatisfied  with  the  course  proposed  by  Mr.  Jobson — 
that  is  to  delay  action,  contest,  compromise,  do  anything 
rather  than  quietly  give  up  the  property — George  Cleave 
had  decided  the  whole  matter  by  ascertaining  from  Mr. 
Gartrell's  letters  to  his  uncle  the  address  of  his  banker, 
which  proved  to  be  Liverpool ;  written  him  fully, 
announcing  his  intention  of  surrendering  Cleaveland, 
and  then  a  second  time  to  make  quite  sure  ;  and  the  let 
ters  had  been  followed  two  or  three  months  afterwards  by 
Mr.  Gartrell's  sudden  appearance. 

It  may  excite  some  surprise  that,  having  become  en 
gaged  to  Annie,  Cleave  had  not  reconsidered  his  resolu 
tion  and  retained  the  property.  He  was  unable  to  do  so. 
He  attained  his  twenty-fifth  year  on  the  very  day  before 
his  engagement  with  Annie,  and  was  debarred  by  the 
terms  of  the  codicil  from  retaining  the  estate.  He  there 
fore  surrendered  it  to  his  cousin,  who  thanked  him  with 
great  cordiality,  and  very  faintly  suggested  that  he 
should  remain  at  Cleaveland — which  George  politely 


80  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON". 

declined — and  on  the  next  day  he  was  installed  in  Mr. 
Jobson's  office,  preparing  himself  for  the  practice  of  the 
law.  He  had  collected  some  small  resources,  which 
enabled  him  to  live  for  the  present  at  the  Tillage  tavern  ; 
and,  not  greeting  his  change  of  fortune  as  seriously  as 
persons  of  more  "strength  of  character"  might  have 
done,  the  young  man  had  resolutely  gone  to  work,  per 
mitting  himself  no  pleasures  but  a  visit  every  few  days  to 
Annie  at  The  Hollies. 

Harrington  had  ceased  to  visit  there.  His  practice,  he 
said,  took  up  all  his  time.  He  went,  it  is  true,  to  The 
Lodge,  to  see  Jack  Daintrees  from  time  to  time  ;  but 
The  Hollies  he  declared  was  a  little  out  of  his  way,  and 
he  was  a  creature  of  habit — he  hoped  no  one  would  think 
him  unsociable.  In  other  words,  Dr.  Ealpli  Harrington 
had  conceived  an  ardent  and  now  entirely  hopeless  love 
for  Annie  Bell.  He  had  discovered  the  fact,  as  we  have 
seen,  precisely  at  the  moment  when  it  was  too  late — the 
accident  which  befell  George  Cleave  had  brought  about 
the  rapid  and  unexpected  denouement  of  the  comedy — 
and  Harrington  had  retired  in  despair,  shutting  up  his 
misery  in  his  own  heart.  He  had  entirely  ceased  to 
allude  even  to  the  inmates  of  The  Hollies  in  his  conversa 
tion  with  Cleave.  He  turned  the  subject  with  a  light 
laugh — or  an  attempt  at  such — when  George  introduced 
it ;  declared  that  he  was  too  old  to  occupy  his  mind  with 
such  things  ;  congratulated  his  friend  in  a  somewhat 
stiff  and  unsympathizing  manner,  George  thought,  and 
then  introduced  some  other  topic. 

"  Decidedly,"  Cleave  would  say  after  such  interviews, 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  81 

(( Ralph  has  changed  his  whole  character,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  him." 

The  weeks  passed  on  thus — Cleave  assiduously  study 
ing — when  one  morning,  not  long  before  the  visit  of  Mr. 
Brown  to  Waterford,  one  of  the  gossips  casually  alluded 
to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  was  paying  his  ad 
dresses  to  Miss  Ormby  of  Bayview. 

This  statement  was  made  by  one  of  the  fair  sex — an 
old  maid  residing  at  the  tavern  with  her  brother,  a 
merchant  of  the  place.  It  stung  George  Cleave  to  the 
quick,  and  he  turned  suddenly  to  the  speaker — they  were 
at  table — and  said  : 

"  That  must  be  a  mere  idle  report,  Miss  Smith." 

"  Oh,  no  indeed  !"  giggled  Miss  Smith;  " it  is  certainly 
so.  He  goes  there  every  day ;  and  I  heard  all  about  it 
from  Mrs.  Jones,  who  heard  it  from  Miss  Primby — and 
she  was  at  Bayview,  and  knows  it,  Mr.  Cleave  ! " 

George  Cleave  went  away  from  the  table,  and  going 
up  to  his  room,  did  not  make  his  appearance  again  during 
the  whole  day.  When  he  came  forth  on  the  next  day  he 
was  quite  pale,  and  did  not  utter  a  word  to  any  one,  even 
to  Harrington. 

The  day  afterwards,  a  lady  visiting  at  The  Hollies 
repeated  the  same  intelligence  in  the  hearing  of  An 
nie — adding  that  she  had  her  own  doubts,  however,  of 
the  truth  of  the  report,  as  young  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington 
was  also  a  frequent  visitor  at  Bayview,  and  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  suitor  of  Miss  Ormby's. 

Thereat  Miss  Annie  Bell  unshed  to  her  temples,  after 
which  her  color  faded  suddenly,  leaving  her  cheeks  white. 


82  PEETTY   MKS.    GASTOK. 

"Is  it  possible  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gaston,  who  had  not  ob 
served  the  agitation  of  Annie;  "Dr.  Harrington  is  so 
little  of  a  lady's  man  that  his  visits  are  probably  profes 
sional  ones  to  some  member  of  the  family." 

But  this  matter-of-fact  explanation  was  promptly  dis 
carded  by  the  lady-gossip.  No,  indeed  !  —  Dr.  Harring 
ton's  visits  were  to  Miss  Ormby,  and  wholly  ^-profes 
sional  !  There  was  no  trusting  these  quiet  people,  like 
Dr.  Harrington  !  They  were  more  given  to  such  things 
than  any  other  class  ! 

And  the  lady-gossip  flowed  on  in  ceaseless  garrulity 
for  an  hour,  supplementing  her  facts  with  her  imagina 
tions. 

Annie  had  glided  out  of  the  room  soon  after  the  allu 
sion  to  Dr.  Harrington,  and  gone  up  to  her  chamber. 
She  walked  with  heavy  steps,  and  her  face — thinner  and 
paler  than  when  we  saw  it  last — was  quite  agitated.  She 
gained  her  chamber,  sank  down  upon  a  low  coach,  leaned 
her  cheek  upon  the  pillow,  and,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hand,  sobbed  out : 

"Oh  me  I  —  oh  me!" 


PKETTY  MRS.    GASTOK.  83 


CHAPTEE    XIV. 

ME.     DAIKTREES      MAKES     AN"     ELABORATE     TOILET 
VISITS    THE    HOLLIES. 


ME.  JACK  DAINTEEES  had  carefully  gone  over 
his  face  with  his  razor  three  distinct  times,  but 
not  yet  satisfied  with  his  personal  appearance,  applied  a 
new  covering  of  shaving  cream,  strapped  his  razor  anew, 
and  again  mowed  down  the  refractory  remnants  of  his 
beard.  He  then  passed  his  hand  over  his  face,  found  the 
surface  like  satin,  seemed  satisfied,  and  proceeded  to 
array  himself  in  full  visiting  costume. 

When  he  went  to  the  door  where  his  riding  horse,  a 
fine  animal,  with  a  coat  as  glossy  as  silk,  stood  awaiting 
him,  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  was  the  picture  of  a  gallant, 
and  he  proceeded  to  vault  into  the  saddle  with  the  ac 
tivity  of  eighteen. 

Now  why  had  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees,  that  incorrigible 
fox-hunter  and  careless  bachelor,  indulged  in  all  this 
personal  adornment  ?  Why  had  he  shaved  thrice  and 
then  a  fourth  time  to  eradicate  every  ungraceful  hirsute 
remnant  ?  Why  had  he  selected  his  best  coat,  his  most 
gorgeous  waistcoat,  his  tightest  boots,  and  drawn  his 


84  PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOK. 

pantaloons  so  closely  at  the  waist  that  he  was  red  in  the 
face? 

Let  us  follow  Mr.  Daintrees,  and  perhaps  we  shall  dis 
cover  the  meaning  of  this  coquettish  care  for  his  personal 
appearance.  He  rode  away,  turned  toward  The  Hollies, 
and  after  half  an  hour's  ride  found  himself  in  sight  of 
that  female  Paradise — one  mass  of  flowers  and  foliage 
now,  and  quite  a  picture. 

Mr.  Daintrees  rode  on,  congratulating  himself  as  he 
looked  at  the  sky  that  he  was  near  shelter.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon,  and  the  heavens  were  overcast  with 
black  clouds.  One  of  those  violent  thunder-storms  which 
burst  upon  Virginia  in  the  month  of  August  was  evi 
dently  approaching,  and  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  had  reached 
that  period  of  life  when  human  beings  carefully  consider 
the  disagreeable  results  of  exposure  to  a  torrent  of  rain, 
with  the  additional  risk  from  lightning.  The  demon  of 
rheumatism  had  indeed  more  than  once  seized  on  the 
limbs  of  the  gay  and  jaunty  Jack,  he  had  a  horror  of 
lumbago.  He  therefore  cantered  on  with  visions  of  a 
charming  evening  in  the  society  of  a  certain  lady  at  The 
Hollies,  with  alabaster  lamps  diffusing  a  romantic  light, 
the  rain  pouring  without,  his  horse  housed  comfortably 
in  the  stable,  whither  country  etiquette  would  have  him 
quickly  led,  and  he,  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees,  compelled  by 
circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control,  to  pass  the 
night  in  that  nest  of  doves,  The  Hollies  ! 

Mr.  Daintrees  rode  in,  dismounted,  and  went  to  the 
door,  at  which  he  gave  a  modest  knock. 

It  was  opened  in  a  moment  by  Annie,  who  had  been 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  85 

listlessly  reading  a  magazine  in  the  drawing-room.  Annie 
was  not  so  rosy  as  when  we  saw  her  last,  and  a  settled 
sadness  dwelt  in  the  sweet  eyes,  once  so  bright  and 
laughing. 

"Walk  in,  Mr.  Daintrees,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you," 
she  said  •  "I  really  believe  I  was  moping." 

(e Moping  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees,  "is  it  pos 
sible  that  a  young  bird  of  paradise  like  yourself,  Miss 
Annie,  ever  mopes!" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"You  should  leave  that  to  the  old  gentlemen — like 
myself,"  said  Mr.  Daintrees.  "What  were  you  read 
ing  ?" 

They  had  taken  their  seats  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
Mr.  Daintrees  was  waiting  for — the  rest  of  the  house 
hold. 

"  Oh  !  only  this  magazine,"  said  Annie.  "  There  is  a 
love  story  appearing  in  it — it  is  very  dull.  I  really  hate 
love  stories ! " 

"Is  it  possible  ?  At  your  age,  and  under  the  circum 
stances.  " 

A  covert  smile  accompanied  these  words. 

"I  should  think,"  added  Mr.  Daintrees,  "that  they 
would  appeal  with  peculiar  force  to — to — a  young  lady 
who  is  engaged  to  be  married  ! " 

Annie  became  very  red,  and  then  the  color  all  faded. 

"I  am  sorry  aunt  is  not  at  home,  Mr.  Daintrees,"  she 
said  with  a  sort  of  desperate  feeling  that  something  must 
be  said,  and  anxious  only  to  turn  the  conversation.  She 
certainly  succeeded.  The  words  fell  upon  Mr.  Jack 


86  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON. 

Daintrees  like  a  death  knell.  All  the  charms  of  The 
Hollies  faded  and  grew  colorless. 

"Not  at  home?  ah?  I  am  sorry.  She  is  probably 
out  visiting  ?" 

Mr.  Daintrees  was  actually  confused,  and  began  to 
stammer.  Annie  was  too  sad,  it  seemed, 'to  notice  the 
fact ;  and  that  spirit  of  fun  which  formerly  made  her 
laugh  at  everything,  had  plainly  deserted  her. 

"  Auntie  went  to  Waterford  to  do  some  shopping,"  she 
said.  "Uncle  Jake  drove  her  in  the  carriage.  It  is 
nearly  time  for  her  return,  I  think." 

Mr.  Daintrees  looked  through  the  window.  The  sky 
was  as  black  as  night — the  night  itself  was  coming — and 
long  zigzags  of  lightning  began  to  flicker  from  the  hori 
zon  to  the  zenith,  followed  by  low  mutterings. 

"A  storm  is  coming  ;  Mrs.  Gaston  will  be  exposed  to 
it,  I  fear " 

He  stopped  suddenly. 

"And  «the  Swamp  !"  he  added  quickly;  "does  she 
know  that  the  rains  have  swollen  it  nearly  to  the  level  of 
the  trestle  bridge  ?" 

"  They  must  have  passed  over  it." 

' '  Yes,  yes— certainly  !  But  this  storm  will  raise  the 
waters  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  She  may  run  serious 
risk!" 

Mr.  Daintrees  rose  quickly. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  Miss  Annie !"  he  said  ; 
"I'll  ride  as  far  as  the  Swamp — it  is  only  a  mile  or  two 
for  that  matter — and  take  a  look  at  it.  If  it  is  danger 
ous  I  will  warn  your  aunt  not  to  attempt  it !" 


PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  8? 

Annie  was  now  seriously  alarmed. 

"Oh,  yes!  Mr.  Dain trees,  I  wish  you  would!"  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  quite  forgot  !  Do  go — but  you  will  be 
drenched  !" 

Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  rushed  forth,  exclaiming  gal 
lantly — 

"In  the  service  of  the  ladies  !" 

Let  us  redeem  the  character  of  Mr.  Daintrees,  how 
ever,  from  the  charge  of  utter  thoughtlessness  and  indif 
ference  to  his  elaborate  toilet.  He  captured  on  his  way 
to  the  door  a  long  water-proof  cloak,  of  light  brown 
material,  which  he  declared  might  be  needed  by  Mrs. 
Gaston,  mounted  his  horse,  and  setting  the  spurs  into 
his  sides,  rode  away  at  a  gallop,  waving  his  hat  to  Annie 
with  all  the  grace  of  a  lover. 

There  was  but  one  circumstance  that  detracted  from 
the  gallant  and  romantic  character  of  this  proceeding — 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees,  bestriding  with  his 
portly  limbs  his  flying  steed,  with  his  coat  skirts  floating 
backward  in  the  cool  gusts  of  the  approaching  storm, 
bore  a  close  resemblance  to  a  personage  of  history,  or 
rather  poetry — his  namesake,  Jack  Gilpin,  riding  his 
famous  race. 


88  PRETTY   MBS.    GASTOK. 


CHAPTER    XV 


IK    THE    SWAMP. 

SWAMP/'  to  which  Mr.  Daintrees  had 
alluded,  was  one  of  those  sluggish  streams 
frequently  met  with  in  Tidewater  Virginia,  the  despair 
of  agriculturists  and  roadmakers.  In  the  dry  season  it 
was  simply  a  lazy,  lingering  thread  of  muddy  water 
which  stole  along  through  the  grass-covered  low  grounds; 
but  so  low  was  the  surface  that  the  least  rain  swelled  this 
slight  current,  made  a  dozen  others,  then  covered  the 
whole  save  where  a  sort  of  island  here  and  there  rose, 
and  made  the  passage  well  nigh  impossible. 

On  the  road  to  "Waterford  a  long  wooden  bridge,  raised 
a  few  feet  above  the  bush-grass  on  trestles,  had  accord 
ingly  been  constructed;  and  on  this  somewhat  rickety 
structure  vehicles  of  all  sorts  could  pass  over  the  treach 
erous  ooze. 

Unfortunately,  heavy  rains  had  recently  taken  place, 
and  the  swamp  was  greatly  swollen.  Mrs.  Gaston  had 
passed  over  the  bridge  in  the  morning  when  the  water, 
now  completely  covering  the  swamp,  except  in  certain 
spots,  was  within  a  foot  of  the  roadway.  The  driver  had 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  89 

declared  it  safe,  as  indeed  it  proved,  but  it  was  equally 
certain  that  an  additional  rain-storm  would  seriously  en 
danger  the  bridge. 

Jack  Daintrees  thought  of  all  this  as  he  hastened  on, 
his  horse  frightened  and  flying  along  as  the  thunder 
rumbled  overhead.  Would  Mrs.  Gaston  attempt  to  cross  ? 
Would  she  arrive  in  time  ?  Might  not  the  storm  burst 
before ? 

The  bridge  was  in  sight — a  long,  low,  insecure  affair, 
lashed  by  the  now  galloping  waters  of  the  whilom  lazy, 
lingering  swamp.  The  tall  grass,  nearly  submerged, 
dashed  to  and  fro  in  the  current,  the  hanging  boughs  of 
some  trees  on  a  small  island  at  the  middle  of  the  bridge 
dipped  to  the  water  ;  the  swamp  was  on  a  frolic,  and — • 
worst  of  all — Mrs.  Gaston's  coach  was  seen  approaching 
the  bridge. 

Afc  the  same  moment  the  rain  dashed  down,  and  the 
waters  seemed  to  rise  before  Mr.  Daintrees's  eyes.  He 
spurred  upon  the  bridge,  which  tottered  and  groaned  be 
neath  his  horse's  feet ;  made  signals  to  the  driver  of  Mrs. 
Gaston's  carriage  not  to  venture  upon  it ;  reached  the 
middle — and  saw  the  carriage  coming  on  rapidly  over  the 
bridge  beyond. 

The  catastrophe  followed.  Scarcely  had  the  vehicle 
reached  the  ^island  when  the  bridge  behind  gave  way. 
Mrs.  Gaston  threw  open  the  door  and  leaped  out,  ex 
claiming,  (<  Oh !  Mr.  Daintrees!"  in  an  accent  which 
sent  a  thrill  of  joy  through  the  bosom  of  that  gentle 
man — when  the  crowning  event  of  this  eventful  day  came 
to  put  the  finishing  touch  to  everything.  Mrs.  Gaston 


90  PEETTY   MKS.    GASTON. 

had  leaped  from  the  carriage  while  it  was  in  motion — the 
old  driver,  in  his  excitement,  had  not  been  aware  of  the 
fact,  and  had  continued  his  way,  entering  on  the  last 
half  of  the  bridge — all  at  once,  as  he  was  near  the  shore, 
that  too  sank  under  the  vehicle  ;  and  it  was  only  by 
violent  lashing  that  old  Jake,  plunging  through  grass, 
water,  and  mud,  succeeded  in  forcing  his  way  up  the 
bank  to  firm  ground. 

Mrs.  Gaston  and  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  were  on  an  island 
in  the  middle  of  the  swamp — the  bridge  was  washed  away 
on  the  right  and  the  left — the  storm  was  roaring  down, 
the  lightning  setting  the  darkness  on  fire,  the  thunder 
discharging  its  big  guns ;  and  the  "  weaker  vessel,"  over 
come  and  sobbing  with  terror,  clung  unconsciously  to  the 
"lord  of  creation,"  who  supported  her  heroically  with 
his  encircling  arm ! 


PKETTY   MKS.    GASTON. 


91 


OHAPTEE    XVI. 


BESIDE   THE   PIKE   Itf   THE    SWAMP. 

H!   Mr.  Daintrees!" 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  my  dear  Mrs.   Gaston ! 
don't  be  alarmed!" 

«  But— oh !  we  shall  be  drowned  1" 


"o 


"OH!   MB.  DAINTREES! 


"I  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Daintrees,  "and  I  hope  for 
your  sake  more  than  for  my  own — yes !   more  than  for 


92  PEETTY   MBS.    GASTCW. 

my  own,"  repeated  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  resolutely,  as  if 
some  one  had  contradicted  him,  "that  no  harm  will 
happen  to  one — hem  ! — one  whom — I  regard  as  my  best 
friend." 

"  Oh  !  indeed  it  is  I  who  need  a  friend !  Just  look ! 
The  water  is  rising  ! " 

"But  the  storm  is  ceasing  !"  said  Mr.  Daintrees. 

"  There  is  no  serious,  real  danger  then  !" 

"I  can't  say  that,  madam ;  but  one  thing  I  can  say, 
that  whatever  that  danger  may  be  I  am  determined  to 
share  it  with  you." 

A  grateful  look  repaid  him.  It  was  heroic  in  Mr.  Dain 
trees.  For  might  he  not  have  mounted,  plunged  into 
the  current,  and  gained — as  novelists  say — the  opposing 
shore  ? 

"I  have  long  felt,"  said  Mr.  Daintrees,  "that  our  fates 
were  or  ought  to  be  united,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gaston  !  See 
how  the  very  elements  combine  to  throw  us  together  ! 
We  are  here  alone  together  on  a  lonely  island  in  the  midst 
of  a  raging  current,  and — but  be  not  uneasy.  I  will 
rescue  you  or  share  your  fate  ! " 

Whether  Mr.  Daintrees  had  been  reading  romances  or 
not,  we  cannot  say ;  but  at  least  he  was  in  earnest.  His 
earnestness,  indeed,  was  so  great  that — unconsciously,  no 
doubt — he  drew  the  graceful  form  of  Mrs.  Gaston  toward 
him,  looked  at  her  with  deep  devotion,  and  said  : 

"Let  me  wrap  you  in  this  cloak !" 
It  was  an  abrupt  descent  from  the  idea  of  perishing  to 
gether  ;  but  an  agreeable  descent  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Gaston. 
She  permitted  herself  to  be  enveloped  in  the  waterproof, 


PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  93 

withdrew  in  a  quiet  manner  from  Mr.  Daintrees's  arm, 
and  said : 

"  But  oh  !  Mr.  Daiii trees — what  shall  we  do  ?" 

Having  ceased  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  supporting  his 
fair  companion,  and  seeing  no  prospect  of  a  renewal  of 
that  romantic  proceeding,  Mr.  Daintrees  looked  at  the 
"situation"  in  a  strictly  business-like  light,  and  said  : 

"Let  me  reflect  a  moment,  my  dear  madam,  and 
think  what  is  best.  First,  there  is  no  prospect  of  the 
swamp  falling  even  sufficiently  to  carry  you  over  behind 
me — that  is,  not  to-night ;  and  you  see  night  has  come. 
"We  must  therefore  be  rescued — you  at  least." 

"  You  can  call  to  Uncle  Jake  !" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Gaston,  you  fill  me  with  admiration  ! 
I  knew  the  treasures  of  your  heart — ahem — and  now  I 
find  your  good-sense  equally  admirable.  Jake  ! " 

The  last  word  was  uttered  in  a  stentorian  voice,  and 
Jake  responding,  he  was  directed  to  hasten  to  the  house 
of  a  neighbor  and  procure  assistance.  Jake  promptly 
obeyed.  He  unhitched  one  of  the  horses,  mounted,  and 
was  heard  clattering  off  in  the  darkness. 

"And  now,  for  your  comfort  in  the  meantime  !  The 
night  is  growing  chill ! "  said  Mr.  Daintrees. 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  match-case,  for  so  old  a 
smoker  never  was  v.ithout  that  convenience;  collected 
some  dry  sticks  and  dead  limbs,  lit  them,  and  soon  a 
cheerful  blaze  soared  aloft,  lighting  up  the  wild  and 
gloomy  scene.  The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  storm  had 
muttered  away  into  the  distance  ;  but  the  angry  waters 
of  the  swamp  were  seen  and  heard  roaring  around  them  ; 


94  PEETTY   MES.    GASTOST.    < 

drift-wood  dashed  by  with  dangerous  velocity ;  there 
was  even  some  reason  to  doubt  whether  the  small  patch 
of  firm  land  occupied  by  Mrs.  Gaston,  Mr.  Daintrees, 
and  his  horse,  would  not  be  overflowed. 

"If  it  should  be,  madam/'  said  Mr.  Daintrees,  "there 
is  but  one  course  to  pursue.  I  will  mount  and  swim  to 
shore  with  you  in  my  arms  !" 

Mrs.  G-aston  blushed.  She  presented  a  very  handsome 
spectacle  at  the  moment.  She  was  half-reclining,  wrap 
ped  in  the  water-proof,  by  the  blaze,  her  fair  hair  all  in 
disorder  on  her  handsome  neck,  her  small  feet  peeping 
from  her  wet  skirt,  and  her  whole  attitude  shrinking, 
timid,  confiding.  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  was  nearly  over 
come  ! 

"If  we  are  saved/'  said  Mrs.  Gaston,  with  her  little 
glance  and  blush,  "  I  shall  owe  you  my  life  !" 

And  Mrs.  Gaston  with  her  pretty  hand  put  back  a 
curl  from  her  pretty  face. 

Mr.  Daintrees  was  overcome  ! 

"  If  I  could  only  be  permitted  to  take  charge  of  that 
beloved  life  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Daintrees,  seizing  the 
hand.  "If  I  was  only  worthy — if  such  presumption 
would  not  make  you  laugh  at  me ! " 

"Oh!  Mr.  Daintrees!"  murmured  pretty  Mrs.  Gas- 
ton. 

"  Am  I  wrong — indelicate — to  speak  of  this  on  such 
an  occasion — when  we  are  thus  alone  together  on  this 
deserted  isle?"  said  Mr.  Daintrees.  "Only  tell  me, 
dearest  madam — only  speak  one  word — and  I  will  stop  at 
once  !" 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  95 

But  Mrs.  Gaston  seemed  too  much  agitated  to  speak 
the  word — whereat  Mr.  Dain trees  thrilled  with  joy. 

"I  am  not  presumptuous  then! — you  do  not  forbid 
me  ! — I  may  hope  then ! " 

Mr.  Dain  trees  looked  the  picture  of  joy. 

"  Then  I  may  take  charge  of  the  fate  of  one " 

A  sudden  halloo  from  the  shore  made  them  start,  and 
looking  up,  they  saw  the  blaze  of  torches. 

"Only  one  word!"  cried  Mr.  Daintrees,  "only  one 
word  !" 

Mrs.  Gaston  raised  her  eyes,  looked  at  Mr.  Daintrees 
for  precisely  the  one  hundredth  part  of  one  second,  and 
then  permitting  the  long  lashes  to  fall  upon  her  cheek, 
said  in  a  whisper,  with  a  blush  and  a  smile  : 

"I  would  rather  say  that  word — if  I  am  to  say  it — at 
The  Hollies  !" 

A  resounding  shout  came,  drowning  Mr.  Daintrees's 
rapturous  response  ;  hammers  were  heard  constructing  a 
raft  of  drift-wood,  and  precisely  one  hour  afterwards 
Mrs.  Gaston  was  placed  upon  this  impromptu  contriv 
ance  ;  it  was  pushed  through  the  water,  which  proved  not 
to  be  very  deep,  and  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  having  plunged 
through  on  horseback,  they  were  all  soon  safely  on  shore. 

Mrs.  Gaston  then  got  into  her  carriage — which  had 
sustained  no  injury — thanked  her  kind  neighbor,  Mr. 
Page,  who  had  come  with  all  his  men  so  promptly  to  her 
rescue  ;  and  then,  with  the  last  mutterings  of  the  storm 
still  resounding,  rolled  away  toward  The  Hollies. 

Mr.  Daintrees  had  determined  to  return  homeward, 
and  had  said  with  an  air  of  common-place  politeness  : 


96  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

"I  shall  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  to-morrow, 
madam,  to  ascertain  if  you  have  caught  cold." 

The  astute  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  had  supposed  that  he 
would  thus  compel  Mrs.  Gaston  to  say  :  "I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Gaston  simply  replied — but  with  the  ghost  of  a 
side-glance  at  Mr.  Daintrees — 

"Thank  you,  sir!" 


PRETTY  MBS.    GASTON.  97 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  PHYSICIAN  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF. 

HALF  a  mile  from  The  Hollies  Mrs.  Gaston  was 
startled  by  an  exclamation  from  the  old  driver, 
and  the  carriage  suddenly  stopped. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"It  is  nobody  but  me,  Auntie,"  said  a  voice  in  the 
darkness,  and  Mrs.  Gaston  recognized  Annie,  who  came 
and  opened  the  door  before  the  old  coachman  could 
descend  for  that  purpose. 

"Why,  Annie  !  my  dear  child !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gaston 
as  the  young  lady  entered  the  carriage,  "what  could  have 
made  you  come  out  ?  you  are  soaking  wet ! " 

"I  was  so  uneasy  about  you,  Auntie  !  I  could  not  sit 
still !  So  I  just  walked  out  and  went  on  until " 

"With  nothing  on  your  head,  and  only  this  scarf 
around  you  !  And  your  feet  are  wringing  wet !  Oh  !  my 
dear  child." 

"It  is  nothing,  Auntie.  But  how  did  you  get  over, 
and  where  is  Mr.  Daintrees  ?" 


98  PEETTY   MRS.    GASTON. 

The  carriage  had  continued  its  way,  and  Mrs.  Gaston 
having  wrapped  Annie  in  her  own  shawl,  related  her  ad 
ventures,  accidentally  omitting  any  allusion  to  the  some 
what  peculiar  character  of  her  interview  with  the  pro 
prietor  of  The  Lodge. 

"That  was  just  like  Mr.  Daintrees!"  exclaimed  An 
nie;  "  he  is  the  best  friend  we  have  ! " 

"  Do  you  like  him,  my  dear  ?" 

e '  Indeed  I  do — and  so  do  you,  my  little  auntie,"  re 
turned  Annie  with  a  slight  laugh. 

Mrs.  Gaston  blushed  in  the  darkness  and  said : 

"Well,  you  know,  my  child — one  can  not  help  regard 
ing  as  a  friend  a  gentleman  who  comes  so  frequently ! 
Ever  since  your  accident  last  year,  Mr.  Daintrees  has 
been  very  intimate  with  us,  and  has  called  every  week. " 

"  Every  week  !"  exclaimed  Annie  with  a  momentary 
return  of  her  constitutional  gayety ;  ( '  Every  day  you 
might  say  !  But  I  won't  tease  you,  Auntie,  I  am  so  glad 
you  are  safe,  and  I  love  you  very  much,  and  I  believe  I 
will  kiss  you  ! " 

An  embrace  followed,  then  Annie  suddenly  coughed. 

' '  You  have  taken  cold,  Annie  ! " 

"A  little,  Fm  afraid,  Auntie.     But  it  is  nothing !" 

It  proved  to  be  something,  and  by  no  means  a  slight 
something.  The  young  lady  had  become  drenched,  her 
feet  saturated  in  the  mud  and  water  of  the  high  road, 
and  on  the  next  morning  she  complained  of  a  pain  in  her 
side,  and  was  ordered  by  Mrs.  Gaston  to  remain  in  her 
chamber. 

"Why   what  a   nervous,   fearful,    and   absurd    little 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  99 

auntie  you  are  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  why  should  I  not  go 
down?" 

"  You  may  be  sick." 

"  I  sick  ! "  what  an  idea  !  And  how  do  you  think  The 
Hollies  will  get  along  without 'me,  madam  ?" 

"It  will  get  along  very  well.  I  will  take  care  of  the 
flowers,  and  if  George  or  anybody  comes  I  will  try  to 
entertain  them." 

"George?" 

"Yes,  you  know  he  will  certainly  come,  as  he  has  not 
been  here  for  two  days." 

A  singular  expression  came  to  Annie's  face,  and  she 
said  quickly  : 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  are  right,  Ami  tie,  and  I  will  re 
main  in  my  room." 

Mrs.  Gaston  looked  at  the  speaker  who  had  thus 
promptly  yielded,  but  Annie's  face  was  impenetrable. 
The  fair  widow  therefore  left  the  young  lady,  and  went 
to  send  up  her  breakfast. 

Annie  had  no  appetite,  and  coughed  a  good  deal. 

About  noon  Mrs.  Gaston  became  a  little  uneasy,  and 
thought  of  sending  for  a  doctor,  when  Mr.  Daintrees  and 
George  Cleave  made  their  appearance — they  had  reached 
The  Hollies  by  accident  at  the  same  moment. 

Mr.  Daintrees  looked  a  little  crestfallen — the  presence 
of  George  was  unlucky — and  as  the  young  man  seemed  to 
be  in  no  haste  to  retire,  Mr.  Daintrees,  utterly  disap 
pointed  in  the  object  of  his  visit,  rose,  took  leave,  and 
went  away  maligning  his  bad  fortune.  George  remained 
for  an  hour  or  two,  expressing  much  regret  at  Annie's 


100  PKETTY  MRS.    GASTO^. 

indisposition,  but  not  as  much  as  Mrs.  Gaston  thought  he 
ought  to  have  expressed.  At  length  he  too  went  away, 
promising  to  return. 

Toward  evening  Annie's  cough  seemed  worse,  and  she 
had  some  fever.  Mrs.  Gaston  then  became  alarmed,  and, 
without  telling  Annie,  wrote  a  note  to  Dr.  Williams,  her 
old  family  physician  at  Waterford,  requesting  him  to 
come  and  see  the  invalid. 

"  If  Dr.  Williams  is  absent,  request  Dr.  Harrington  to 
come,"  she  said  to  the  servant. 

And  toward  evening  Dr.  Harrington  made  his  appear 
ance,  Dr.  Williams  having  been  called  to  some  distance 
to  see  a  patient. 

Mrs.  Gaston  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  Ealph 
Harrington,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time.  It 
was  impossible  not  to  be  struck  with  the  contrast  be 
tween  his  present  and  his  former  self.  All  his  jaunty 
air  had  disappeared ;  his  cheeks  were  thin,  and  he  looked 
wan  and  old. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Doctor!"  exclaimed  the 
lady. 

"The  matter,  madam?" 

"You  are  so  much  thinner  and  paler  !" 

Harrington  smiled — it  was  rather  a  sad  smile. 

' '  Our  profession  is  exacting,  madam — night  riding 
will  tell  upon  the  health.  Miss  Bell,  I  hope,  is  better?" 

He  very  plainly  desired  to  change  the  subject,  and 
after  informing  him  of  Annie's  symptoms,  Mrs.  Gaston 
went  up  to  announce  the  doctor's  presence.  The  young 
lady  was  lying  in  a  morning  wrapper  upon  a  pile  of 


PEETTY   MRS.    GASTON".  101 

pillows,  with  her  hair  in  some  disorder,  and  her  flushed 
cheek  resting  upon  one  hand. 

"Dr.  Harrington  has  come,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaston.  "  Shall  I  invite  him  up  ?" 

"Dr.  Harrington  !"  exclaimed  Annie,  turning  redder 
than  before. 

"Yes,  my  child.     Dr.  Williams  was  absent." 

"Dr.  Harrington!" 

"Do  you  object  to  seeing  him?  It  is  nothing.  His 
visit  is  purely  professional,  and  — 

"Dr.  Harrington  !" 

Each  of  these  exclamations  had  been  uttered  as  it  were 
unconsciously. 

"I  can  understand  your  feelings,  Annie,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaston.  "  The  doctor  has  been  heretofore  a  young  gen 
tleman  visitor  in  your  eyes,  and  his  new  character  startles 
you.  But  you  need  medical  advice " 

"Oh!  no,  no,  Auntie!" 

"  I  really  must  insist,  my  dear." 

She  went  firmly  toward  the  door. 

"At  least  wait  a  few  minutes,  Auntie — my  toilet! 
Think  of  my  toilet !" 

Mrs.  Gaston  closed  the  door.  No  sooner  had  she  done 
so  than  Annie  rose  quickly,  ran  to  the  mirror,  bound  up 
her  hair,  and  had  just  completed  these  preparations  and 
taken  a  seat  upon  a  sofa  when  Mrs.  Gaston  .and  Dr.  Har 
rington  made  their  appearance. 

Ealph  Harrington  was  scarcely  able  to  assume  his 
professional  coolness,  but  he  did  assume  it,  and  said 
quietly  : 


102  PBETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

"I  am  sorry  to  find  you  unwell,  Miss  Annie  ;  a  trifle, 
I  hope.  Allow  me  to  feel  your  pulse." 

"Oh!  it  is  nothing,  I  assure  you!"  she  exclaimed 
with  a  forced  laugh.  "  Auntie  is  absurdly  uneasy  when 
ever  I  have  a  finger-ache  ! " 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  Dr.  Harrington  touched 
the  blue  vein  on  the  wrist  with  his  index  and  middle 
fingers. 

"A  little  fever,"  he  said,  "resulting  from  simple  cold. 
You  will  be  well,  I  hope,  to-morrow,  Miss  Annie." 

Mrs.  Gaston's  countenance  indicated  the  immense 
relief  afforded  her  by  these  words. 

"Then  there  is  no  danger  of  pneumonia,  Doctor  ?" 

"None  at  all,  madam,  and  you  may  dismiss  all  fears." 

"How  happy  you  make  me!"  exclaimed  the  lady; 
' l  and  George  will  be  as  glad  as  I  am.  Will  you  tell  him 
on  your  return,  Doctor  ?  He  was  here  this  morning." 

A  singular  expression  came  to  Harrington's  face.  He 
inclined  his  head  rather  stiffly,  and  said  : 

"I  will,  with  great  pleasure,  madam." 

He  then  rose,  and  said  : 

"I  will  leave  a  prescription.  Can  I  write  it  down 
stairs,  madam  ?  " 

"Yes,  Doctor." 

Harrington  turned  toward  Annie  and  their  eyes  met. 
For  an  instant  they  remained  motionless,  gazing  at  each 
other,  and  a  slight  tremor  passed  through  the  young 
lady's  frame.  Harrington's  pale  face  flushed  ;  his  lips 
opened,  but  no  words  issued  from  them.  He  simply 
bowed,  and  went  out  with  Mrs.  Gaston. 


PRETTY    MRS.    GASTON".  103 

As  the  door  closed,  Annie's  head  fell  upon  the  arm  of 
the  sofa,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

On  the  next  morning  Dr.  Williams  made  his  appear 
ance  at  The  Hollies.  He  had  been  to  see  a  patient  ten 
or  fifteen  miles  from  Waterford,  he  said,  when  about 
midnight  Dr.  Harrington  had  reached  the  house  and 
informed  him  of  Miss  Bell's  indisposition,  expressing 
a  wish  that,  as  he,  Dr.  Williams,  was  the  family  physi 
cian  of  Mrs.  Gaston,  he  would  treat  the  case. 

"A  mere  cold,  my  dear  madam,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Gas- 
ton,  after  feeling  Annie's  pulse  ;  "and  Miss  Annie  will 
be  well  in  three  days." 

The  interview  had  taken  place  in  the  parlor,  whither 
Annie  had  insisted  upon  going.  Had  she  expected  Dr. 
Ralph  Harrington  ?  An  hour  after  the  departure  of  the 
old  physician,  Annie  was  looking  out  of  the  window 
when  she  saw  George  Cleave  ride  into  the  grounds.  Her 
proceeding  thereupon  was  singular.  In  the  morning  she 
had  declared  herself  perfectly  well.  She  now  rose  quietly 
and  said  : 

"Auntie,  I  believe  I  feel  a  little  badly,  and  would 
rather  not  see  any  company.  Will  you  tell  George  ?  " 

Having  made  this  request,  Miss  Annie  Bell  strolled  out 
of  the  room.  Once  in  the  passage  she  began  to  walk 
rapidly.  Then  as  Cleave  approached  the  house  she  flew 
up-stairs,  and  disappeared  in  her  chamber,  closing  the 
door  behind  her. 


104  PRETTY  MKS.    GASTOtf. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


HARRINGTOK     ANNOUNCES     HIS     INTEtfTIOK    TO     LEAVE 
WATERFORD. 

THREE  days  after  these  scenes,  Dr.  Ralph  Harring 
ton  was  walking  up  and  down  in  his  office,  about 
twilight,  smoking  a  cigar  and  evidently  reflecting.  His 
habit  of  smoking  had  grown  upon  him  of  late,  and  he 
was  seldom  without  a  pipe  or  a  cigar  between  his  lips. 

The  slow  and  measured  promenade  to  and  fro  had  con 
tinued  for  some  time,  when  the  door  opened  and  George 
Cleave  came  in. 

"Take  a  seat,  George,"  said  Harrington;  "you'll  find 
a  cigar  on  the  table." 

He  then  continued  his  walk,  Cleave  seating  himself 
but  declining  the  cigar. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came,  old  fellow,"  said  Harrington, 
"as  I  want  to  talk  with  somebody.  I  am  going  to  leave 
Waterford." 

Cleave  turned  his  head  quickly. 

"Leave  Waterford?" 

Harrington  nodded. 

"The  fact  is,  I  can't  afford  to  stay.     I  am  not  doing 


PEETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  105 

as  well  as  I  think  I  can  do  elsewhere.     Sorry  to  go,  but 
I  am  compelled  to." 

Cleave's  countenance,  at  this  announcement,  expressed 
the  greatest  consternation  and  regret. 

"You  can't  be  in  earnest,  Kalph!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  you  are  succeeding  better  than  any  young  doctor 
in  the  country — everybody  says  that !  It  is  absurd  to  be 
going  away.  Leave  Waterf  ord  ?  You  astonish  me  ! " 

Harrington  shook  his  head. 

( '  Can't  stay,"  he  said  coolly.  "  Every  man  must  look 
out  for  his  career,  my  dear  fellow.  I  am  only  dragging 
along  here,  losing  my  best  years.  I  don't  like  to  leave 
you,  kind  friends  all,  but  I  must  pull  up  stakes,  my  son  ! " 

Harrington  spake  in  his  habitual  tone  of  lazy  indiffer 
ence,  and  seemed  to  be  smiling.  Cleave  looked  at  him 
as  well  as  the  dim  light  would  permit.  He  was  quite 
thin  and  pale,  but  all  his  old  spirit  of  brave  resolution 
was  plainly  in  him. 

"What's  the  use  of  staying?"  he  added.  "I  have 
some  talent  they  say,  and  some  day  I  may  wish — to 
marry.  What  probability  is  there  of  making  sufficient 
income  for  that  here  ?  True,  marriage  is  not  the  chief 
end  of  existence,  but  then  the  fancy  takes  a  man  with 
almost  absolute  certainty  before  he's  forty,  to  indulge  in 
that  dangerous  luxury,  and  it  may  seize  upon  me  !  " 

The  slight  accent  of  irony,  satire,  whatever  word  ex 
pressed  it,  was  plainer  in  the  voice. 

"  True,  I  don't  think  of  it  now,"  Harrington  added 
again,  "but — but  here  I  am  boring  you,  old  fellow.  I 
must  go." 


106  PEETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

Cleave  had  listened  without  a  word.  It  was  perfectly 
evident  that  he  was  watching  the  speaker. 

"  Well/'  he  said  quietly,  "let  us  not  speak  any  further 
of  this  at  the  moment.  To  come  to  another  subject  — 
my  own  affairs." 


"  If  anybody  goes  away,  I  think  it  ought  to  be  me." 

"You?  What  an  absurdity!  You  are  the  luckiest 
fellow  I  know,  George.  You  are  engaged  to  be  married 
to  —  to  the  woman  you  love  —  and  you  know  my  opinion 
of  her." 

"You  forget  my  poverty." 

"That's  nothing." 

"Which  proves,  Ralph,  that  you  are  the  most  consis 
tent  of  reasoners.  Just  now  you  argued  triumphantly, 
in  your  own  estimation,  that  money  was  necessary  to 
marriage,  and  you  must  go  elsewhere  to  make  money." 

"The  case  is  different." 

"  It  is  the  same.  But  to  cease  that  discussion,  I  want 
to  speak  of  my  own  affairs,  as  I  said." 

"Well,  speak,  George." 

"  I  am  going  to  request  Miss  Annie  Bell  to  terminate 
our  engagement." 

"Whatf" 

Cleave  repeated  his  words. 

"Well,  "said  Harrington,  a  little  agitated,  "wonders 
never  cease  !  " 

He  had  stopped  abruptly  in  his  promenade  at  George's 
words.  He  now  resumed  his  deliberate  walk. 

"Is  it  possible,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  going  to  a 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  107 

young  lady  to  say,  '  I  love  you  no  longer,  and  can't  marry 
you?'" 

"No,  I  am  going  to  say,  '  You  love  me  no  longer,  and 
wish  to  be  released  from  an  engagement  which  you  re- 
gret.'" 

Harrington  shook  his  head.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice 
faltered  a  little. 

"Take  care,  George.  This  is  a  ticklish  business. 
What  reason  have  you  to  think  Miss  Bell  is  anxious  to  be 
off?" 

"  A  hundred  reasons,  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  state — 
among  the  rest,  that  she  avoids  me  whenever  she  can  do 
so  ;  is  everything  that  an  engaged  young  lady  ought  not 
to  be  ;  and  only  does  not  speak  because  she  shrinks  from 
an  apparent  breach  of  faith  ! " 

Harrington  continued  to  walk  up  and  down  in  silence. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  in  a  low  tone,  "and  you — 
what  will  you  do,  my  dear  fellow  ?  Blow  out  your 
brains  ?  " 

Cleave  did  not  reply  for  some  moments. 

"Do  you  remember  what  you  told  me  the  other  day 
about  Marian  Ormby  ?  "  he  said  at  length  in  a  very  low 
voice. 

"What  was  that?" 

"  That  she  had  acted  under  constraint  in  breaking  off 
with  me — had  been  forced  by  the  tyranny  of  her  father 
to  deny  herself  when  I  came  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes — and  I  said  more  ;  that  the  poor  thing  was 
breaking  her  heart  at  the  prospect  of  being  forced  to 
marry  this  Mr.  Gartrell,  whom  she  abhors/' 


108  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTCttT. 

George  Cleave  nodded. 

"  Now,  then,  you  ought  to  know  whether  I  am  willing 
or  unwilling  to  be  off  with  Annie.  The  simple  fact  is, 
that  engagement  was  an  awful  blunder.  I  was  piqued, 
angry,  wretched,  and  at  The  Hollies  I  found  consolation; 
Annie  took  pity  on  me — that's  all.  The  crowning  mis 
fortune  is  that — I  loye  Marian  Ormby  more  than  ever." 

Harrington  knit  his  brows,  but  could  not  suppress  the 
joy  in  his  eyes. 

"  And  you  are  going  to  say  so  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"To— Annie?" 

"Yes." 

Harrington  controlled  the  throbbing  of  his  heart  by  an 
effort,  and  said  : 

"Well,  the  interview,  I  think,  will  be  curious ;  some 
thing  like  a  story  book  !  You  must  act  after  your  own 
views,  George ;  I  can't  advise  you.  Suppose  you  come 
and  tell  me  the  result  ?  " 

"I  will,  most  certainly." 

The  darkness  had  come.  Harrington's  cigar  glowed 
quickly  and  nervously,  puff  by  puff. 

"  It  will  interest  a  cool,  careless  old  fellow  like  me  to 
hear  how  it  turns  out,  George,"  he  said. 


PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  109 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


THE    WOES     OF     DAINTEEES. 

THROUGHOUT  the  whole  following  day  George 
Cleave  was  in  the  most  absent  frame  of  mind 
conceivable,  and  his  eyes  would  remain  fixed  for  hours 
together  upon  the  same  page  of  the  law-book  which  he 
was  reading — even  upon  the  same  sentence. 

He  sat  in  one  corner  of  Mr.  Jobson' s  office,  where  his 
studies  were  prosecuted.  Before  the  great  green-baize 
table  sat  Mr.  Jobson. 

Mr.  Jobson  raised  his  head. 

"I  don't  like  this  Mr.  Gartrell,"  lie  said  aloud,  ad 
dressing  the  walls  of  his  office;  "and  who  is  this 
Brown?" 

Cleave  raised  his  eyes. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Mr.  Jobson  ?" 

The  old  lawyer  rose. 

"  I  say,  I  don't  like  your  cousin,  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell ; 
and  I  don't  like  Brown  !  Brown  is  still  there.  What  is 
he  doing  there  ?  " 

This  was  a  poser.     George  smiled  and  said  : 

"He  is  agent  of  a  lumber  company,  I  believe,  and 
came  to  buy  timber." 


110  PliETTY   MliS.    GASTOK. 

"He  is  nothing  of  the  sort,  my  dear  sir/'  said  Mr. 
Jobson,  knitting  his  brows  and  wiping  his  pen.  "There 
is  some  mystery  about  Brown,  and  I  wish  to  heaven  we 
had  not  given  up  that  estate. " 

Mr.  Jobson  said  "We."  His  feeling  toward  George 
was  really  paternal  now,  when  the  young  man's  fortunes 
were  under  a  cloud  ;  and  he  had  attempted  vainly  to  in 
duce  him  to  come  and  live  with  him — the  amount  for  his 
board  and  lodging  to  be  paid  when  convenient ;  say  in 
twenty  years — without  interest. 

"Yery  well,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  after  gazing  with  ex 
treme  sternness  upon  an  opposite  book-shelf  where  the 
demon  of  dust  seemed  to  have  taken  up  its  reign ;  "  I'll 
say  no  more  at  the  present  time  on  the  subject  of  Gartrell 
and — Brown.  I  am  now  going  to  see  Mrs.  Gaston.  There 
is  just  time  to  return  before  dark." 

"You  have  business  with  her,  Mr.  Jobson  ?" 

"Yes ;  to  read  her  the  rough  draft  of  a  deed  for  some 
land  she  is  about  to  purchase." 

George  closed  his  book. 

"  I  will  go  with  you." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  the  parchment  face 
of  Mr.  Jobson. 

"Your  business,  I  suppose,  will  be  with — the  other 
members  of  the  family." 

"  Yes,"  said  George  quietly. 

Mr.  Jobson  groaned. 

"To  think  that  you  might  have  kept  Cleaveland  if 
you  had  only  arranged  that  affair  in  time  ! "  he  said. 

Everything  was  an  "affair"  with  Mr.  Jobson. 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  Ill 

"  There  was  not  time/'  returned  Cleave  in  the  same 
quiet  tone ;  "  and  now  as  you  are  getting  ready,  I'll  order 
my  horse  and  go  with  you." 

The  sun  was  sinking  toward  the  woods  as  Mr.  Jobson 
and  George  rode  up  to  The  Hollies,  where  masses  of  \ 
foliage,  flowers,  and  emerald  sward  were  bathed  in  the 
rich,  red  light.  They  saw  a  horse  at  the  rack — and 
George  smiled.  They  dismounted  and  entered — there 
was  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees,  who  had  not  arrived  more  than 
three  minutes  before  them.  Mrs.  Gaston  had  not  had 
time  since  his  arrival  to  come  down-stairs. 

When  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  beheld  the  forms  of  the  two 
visitors,  a  muttered  exclamation  might  have  been  dis 
tinguished  by  any  one  in  his  immediate  vicinity ;  and  an 
expression  of  the  deepest  gloom  diffused  itself  over  his 
countenance.  The  reason  was  that  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees 
was  the  victim  of  misfortune,  the  sport  of  fate,  a  puppet 
in  the  unrelenting  hand  of  destiny.  Day  after  day  he 
had  vainly  essayed  to  secure  that  much-desired  private 
interview  with  Mrs.  Gaston.  What  had  that  fair  lady 
said,  beside  the  fire  in  the  swamp  ?  Why,  that  if  she  had 
to  utter  a  certain  "word"  ardently  desired  by  Mr.  Dain 
trees,  she  should  prefer  to  utter  it  "at  The  Hollies!" 
What  had  the  "glance  of  her  eye"  indicated  as  she 
rolled  away  homeward  on  that  night  ?  An  unmistakable 
intention  not  to  say  "  No  ! " 

And  ever  since  that  stormy  but  brilliant  moment,  Mr. 
Jack  Daintrees  had  been  struggling  to  secure  the  desired 
interview — and  incessantly  something  had  occurred  to 
prevent  it;  Annie's  sickness,  George's  visits,  a  severe 


112  PRETTY   MES.    GASTOKT. 

headache  under  which  Mrs.  Gaston  labored  —  always 
something  !  On  this  evening,  Mr.  Daintrees  had  regarded 
his  success  as  certain.  No  one  had  preceded  him ;  Annie 
was  well ;  the  servant  said  Mrs.  Gaston  was  quite  well ; 
and  Mrs.  Gaston  had  sent  word  that  she  would  be  down 
in  a  few  minutes. 

And  now  ! — Here  was  George,  and  the  hated  Jobson  ! 
Jobson  on  " business,"  no  doubt!  Business  at  such  a 
moment ! 

When  Mrs.  Gaston  made  her  appearance  in  a  few  min 
utes,  clad  in  an  exquisite  evening  dress,  with  a  bow  of 
pink  ribbon  clearly  relieved  against  her  pretty  neck,  a 
white  rose  in  her  braided  hair,  and  a  faint  smile  just 
dimpling  her  blushing  cheeks,  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  expe 
rienced  sensations  which  were  too  deep  for  words,  and 
felt  a  violent  desire  to  fall  upon  Mr.  George  Cleave  and 
Mr.  Jobson,  and  put  them  to  death  then  and  there  ! 

Mr.  Jobson  having  bowed  stiffly  and  exchanged  a  few 
commonplaces  on  the  subject  of  the  weather,  said  : 

"  I  have  come  as  you  requested,  madam,  but  rather 
late,  I  am  afraid.  The  deed  you  wish  proved  a  more 
difficult  matter  than  I  supposed.  It  will  require  your 
attention  for  two  or  three  hours,  I  fear." 

Mr.  Daintrees  nearly  groaned  aloud.  He  glanced 
round.  The  sun  was  on  the  horizon,  and  its  last  rays 
darted  through  the  window.  George  and  Annie  had  dis 
appeared — with  the  view  of  looking  at  the  flowers — and 
Mr.  Daintrees  was  plainly  de  trop.  With  a  heavy  heart 
and  the  most  plaintive  of  expressions,  he  rose,  declaring 
that  as  he  had  simply  called  to  inquire  after  Mrs.  Gas- 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTON.  113 

ton's  health  on  his  way  home — which  was  a  fearful  false 
hood — he  would  continue  his  ride,  doing  himself  the 
pleasure  to  call  again. 

What  thereupon  did  Mrs.  Gaston  do  ?  Mrs.  Gaston 
sent  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  away  with  a  bosom  expanding 
with  joy.  The  fair  lady  rose,  gave  him  her  small  hand, 
pressed  his  own — actually  pressed  it — blushed,  and  mur 
mured  sotto  voce,  unheard  by  Mr.  Jobson  : 

"I  am  sorry  that — you  can  not — stay." 

A  glance  accompanied  the  words  which  flooded  the 
soul  of  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  with  happiness  unspeakable. 
He  bowed  low  over  the  hand,  threw  an  expression  of  sad 
and  uncomplaining  tenderness  into  his  eyes,  and  went 
away  in  triumph. 

George  and  Annie  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 


PEETTY  MES.    GASTON. 


OHAPTEE    XX. 

HOW     HAEEINGTOtf     DECLAEED     THAT     HE     HAD     GROWX 
TEN   YEAES  YOUNGEE. 

PRECISELY  at  midnight  George  Cleave  opened  the 
door  of  Ralph  Harrington's  office,  and  entered, 
closing  the  door  after  him.  Harrington  was  half  reclin 
ing  in  an  arm-chair,  smoking  as  usual.  Through  the 
window  streamed  a  flood  of  moonlight — the  only  light  in 
the  apartment. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,"  said  Harrington  with  an  unwonted 
tremor  in  his  voice,  "here  you  are,  and  you  have  had  the 
luck  to  catch  me  just  as  I  was  going  to  turn  in.  Sit 
down!" 

Cleave  did  so,  and  replied  : 

"Let  us  leave  all  sorts  of  pretences,  Ralph,  and  have 
no  concealments  !  You  know  you  were  waiting  for  me, 
and  that  you  are  dying  to  know  the  result  of  my  inter 
view  at  The  Hollies  I" 

Harrington  attempted  a  short  laugh. 

"What  a  suspicious  fellow  you  are,  my  boy  !  /dying 
to  know  how  affairs  have  turned  out  yonder  between  you 
and  your  sweetheart  ?  What  have  I  to  do  with  it  beyond 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  115 

mere  friendship  for  you ;  the  simple  desire,  certainly  a 
natural  one  in  a  friend,  to  see  you  well  out  of  this — love 
snarl  ?" 

Cleave  looked  at  his  friend,  whose  face  utterly  belied 
his  words. 

"My  dear  Ralph,"  he  said,  "do  you  think  that  I  am 
like  the  persons  spoken  of  in  the  Scriptures,  who  have 
eyes  and  see  not,  ears  and  hear  not  ?  You  have  grown 
pale  and  thin  ;  your  voice,  once  so  strong  and  hearty, 
has  lost  its  old  tones.  I  can  see  and  hear  that.  But  let 
us  leave  this  subject  for  the  present." 

"Most  willingly.  The  fact  is,  George,  you  are  dream- 
ing!" 

Unfortunately  Harrington's  face  and  voice  completely 
justified  Cleave's  criticisms.  The  face  was  agitated  and 
the  voice  shook  a  little. 

"What  you  allude  to,  George,"  he  added,  "is  easily 
explained.  I  am  overworked,  and  nothing  pulls  a  man 
down  like  loss  of  rest.  The  inhabitants  of  this  agreeable 
neighborhood  insist  on  being  taken  sick  invariably  in  the 
night ;  and  I  have  no  sooner  turned  in,  congratulating 
myself  upon  at  least  one  night's  rest,  than  a  ring  comes 
at  my  night  bell,  and  there  I'm  in  the  saddle  for  a  ride 
of  ten  miles,  perhaps  ! " 

"  I  thought  we  had  agreed  to  drop  the  discussion  of 
that  point,  my  dear  Ralph." 

"True  ;  excuse  me." 

"Let  me  tell  you  about  my  interview  with  Annie." 

"  Well,"  said  Harrington  in  a  low  voice,  "  let  us  hear 
about  that." 


116  PEETTY   MRS.    G ASTON". 

"Everything  was  explained,  arranged,  and  ended  in 
an  hour.  I  walked  out  with  Annie,  and  when  we  were 
out  of  sight  of  the  house  in  the  grove,  made  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  Ralph.  I  told  her  that  it  was  perfectly  plain 
that  she  regretted  her  engagement ;  that  reflection  and 
observation  had  convinced  me  that  she  had  promised  to 
marry  me  from  compassion  and  pitying  tenderness  for  me 
in  my  forlorn  condition ;  and  that  such  a  union,  on  such 
a  basis,  would  prove  miserable  to  us  both — a  blunder 
which  could  never  be  righted.  As  her  friend  and  adopted 
brother,  therefore,  I  released  her  from  her  engagement." 

"Yes,"  said  Harrington. 

"  Then  came  the  reply,  Ralph.  I  won't  repeat  Annie's 
words,  words  full  of  affection  and  uttered  in  her  frank, 
true,  earnest  voice.  In  the  most  delicate  but  the  plainest 
manner,  she  informed  me  that  I  had  truthfully  read  her 
heart ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  terminate  the  en 
gagement — was  I  sure  that  it  would  not  distress  me  ? 

She  hoped  not  ?  She  loved  me  dearly  ! then  came 

some  tears,  and  renewed  assurances  of  affection  which, 
as  they  were  simply  of  sisterly  regard,  I  can  allude  to, 
Ralph." 

"You  did  not  allude  then  to  Marian  ?"  came  in  the 
same  low  voice  from  Harrington. 

Cleave  colored  and  tried  to  laugh. 

"  I  did  not  utter  her  name.  Why  say  to  Annie,  ( I  am 
too  much  attached  to  some  one  else  to  wish  my  engage 
ment  with  you  to  continue  ? '  Her  own  disinclination 
was  reason  enough." 

"You  are  right." 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK.  117 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so." 

«  go — your  engagement  with  Miss  Annie  is  definitely 
at  an  end?" 

Harrington  could  not  suppress  a  tremor  of  the  voice, 
through  which  broke  forth  a  great  and  sudden  joy. 

( '  Completely  at  an  end,  and  I  assure  you,  Ealph,  I  feel 
all  the  satisfaction  of  a  man  who  has  extricated  himself 
from  a  false  position. " 

"And— Miss  Bell?" 

"I  am  compelled  to  say,  unflattering  as  the  avowal  is  to 
myself,  that  Annie  could  not  conceal  her  happiness  ! " 

Harrington  was  silent,  but  Cleave  could  hear  him 
drawing  long  breaths. 

t(  There  was  no  sort  of  doubt  about  my  little  sister's 
satisfaction,"  added  Cleave,  "and  I  assure  you  she  never 
looked  so  beautiful,  and  she  is  beautiful." 

tt  Yery  beautiful !"  muttered  Harrington. 

"And  now  I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  that  my 
visits  will  not  make  her  run  up-stairs  to  avoid  me,  I 
shall  always  have  a  charming  little  friend  to  tell  my 
troubles  to — to  go  to  for  consolation.  You  should  try, 
yourself,  to  secure  such  a  friend,  Kalph." 

"I !" 

"  Why  not  ?  What  for  instance  would  be  more  rational 
than  that  you  should  give  Annie  the  opportunity  of 
brightening  two  people  ?  You  are  pining  away  here  for 
want  of  female  society.  Come  !  ride  with  me  to-morrow 
to  The  Hollies." 

"I!— to  The  Hollies!" 

"Why  not?" 


118  PRETTY   MES.    GASTON. 

Harrington's  face  filled  with  blood. 

"The  family  are  your  excellent  good  friends.  Their 
smiles  will  cheer  you. " 

A  strange  agitation  passed  through  the  frame  of  the 
young  physician.  Joy  was  infusing  itself  like  a  subtle 
essence  into  his  life. 

"I  will — I  will  think  of  it,  George,"  he  said. 

Cleave,  in  spite  of  his  own  sadness,  could  not  suppress 
a  smile. 

"  You  may  as  well  pass  your  time  as  agreeably  as  pos 
sible  before — you  leave  Waterford." 

Harrington  turned  suddenly  and  exclaimed  : 

"Why  should  I  be  playing  a  part  with  you,  George  ? 
Why  am  I  making  a  fool  of  myself  ?  Now  that  I  know 
your  engagement  is  broken,  I  can  tell  you  what  perhaps 
you  know — that  I  love  the  very  ground  she  walks  upon  ! 
That  I  have  been  breaking  my  heart  about  her  ! " 

"Well — that  is  now  useless,  Ralph;  and  listen!  —  try 
if  you  can't  arrange  with  my  little  sister  to  be — my 
brother-in-law ! " 

Harrington  thrilled  suddenly. 

"  I  don't  dare  to  think  of  it !  Let  us  speak  of  your 
affairs,  George.  I  am  going  to  Bayview  to-morrow,  and 
I  will  tell  somebody  there  all  about  you.  Don't  despair  ! 
Patience,  and  shuffle  the  cards  ! " 

i     Harrington  uttered  a  laugh  so  young  and  joyful  that 
it  sounded  like  a  boy's. 

"I  believe  you  have  made  me  ten  years  younger,  old 
fellow  ! "  he  exclaimed. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOH.  110 


CHAPTEE    XXI. 


ALLA>T     GARTRELL,     ESQ. 

ON"  the  morning  after  this  interview  between  Har 
rington  and  Cleave  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  came  out 
of  his  fine  mansion  of  Cleaveland,  drew  on  a  handsome 
pair  of  riding  gauntlets,  mounted  a  superb  horse  held 
respectfully  by  his  groom,  and  set  off  at  a  rapid  gallop  in 
the  direction  of  Bayview. 

Allan  Gartrell,  Esq.,  was  what  is  called  a  "fine-look 
ing  man,"  about  twenty-eight,  with  a  ruddy  countenance 
indicative  of  high  living,  a  vigorous  person,  and  English 
side  whiskers,  black  and  curling.  Mr.  Gartrell  might 
have  been  called  a  "fine-looking  man,"  though  his  ap 
pearance  was  rather  rakish,  and  the  only  thing  that 
detracted  from  his  personal  charms,  was  an  ugly-looking 
scar  upon  his  right  temple.  He  was  clad  in  the  height 
of  the  fashion,  and  had  a  joyous  air  which  seemed  the 
result  of  a  good  conscience  and  a  good  digestion.  He 
went  on  rapidly  humming  the  air  of  a  little  Erench  song, 
and  in  due  time  reached  Bayview,  from  which,  as  Mr. 
Gartrell  entered,  issued  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington. 

Harrington's  frequent  visits  to  Bayview  had  aroused 


120  PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOH. 

that  gossiping  report  that  he  was  paying  his  addresses  to 
Marian.  His  business  was  much  more  prosaic.  A  valued 
servant  had  been  taken  sick,  some  time  before,  and  as 
Mr.  Ormby  had  conceived  a  great  dislike  to  old  Dr.  Wil 
liams,  Dr.  Harrington  had  been  sent  for,  and  had  con 
tinued  to  attend  the  sick  servant. 

The  two  men  coolly  saluted  each  other  with  that  inde 
finable  reserve  which  clearly  indicates  all  want  of  sympa 
thy.  Each  felt  that  the  other  was  not  to  his  taste. 
Harrington  did  not  fancy  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell,  and  Mr. 
Allan  Gartrell  seemed  to  understand  the  fact  perfectly. 
They  therefore  bowed  coolly,  the  physician  departed,  and 
the  last  new-comer  entered. 

Opening  the  library  door  with  the  air  of  a  man  entirely 
at  home,  Mr.  Gartrell  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Mr.  Jobson,  who  was  sitting  with  one  leg  crossed  over 
the  other,  his  spectacles  on  his  nose,  a  paper  in  his  hand, 
and  engaged  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Ormby.  A  single 
glance  at  Mr.  Ormby  was  sufficient  to  show  that  that 
gentleman  was  in  an  extremely  gloomy  state  of  mind. 
His  brow  was  lowering,  his  general  expression  downcast. 
He  rose  hastily  as  Mr.  Gartrell  came  in,  and  greeted  him 
with  some  confusion,  adding  that  he  would  probably  find 
the  drawing-room  more  pleasant — Miss  Ormby  would — 
there  Mr.  Ormby  stopped,  clearing  his  throat. 

Mr.  Gartrell  bowed  and  smiled.  He  was  evidently  a 
gentleman  of  tact. 

' '  Don't  let  me  disturb  you,  my  dear  sir.  I  really  beg 
pardon,  business  is  business,  and,"  he  added  with  a  light 
laugh,  "I  must  say,  at  the  expense  of  politeness,  that  I 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOX.  121 

would  rather  see  Miss  Ormby  than  even  two  such  worthy 
gentlemen  as  yourself  and  Mr.  Jobson,  Mr.  Ormby  ! " 

The  old  lawyer  did  not  respond  to  this  pleasantry. 
He  looked  at  Mr.  Gartrell  out  of  the  upper  part  of  his 
eyes  above  his  spectacles,  and  said  nothing. 

The  airy  Mr.  G-artrell  did  not  or  would  not  see  the 
lawyer's  cool  glance.  He  sauntered  into  the  parlor,  and 
having  summoned  a  servant,  who  was  directed  to  inform 
Miss  Ormby  of  Mr.  GartrelPs  presence,  Mr.  Ormby  re 
turned  to  the  library,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind 
him. 

"And  the  decree  is  now  final,  decisive,  not  to  be  as 
sailed  ?  Good  heavens,  sir  ! "  said  Mr.  Ormby,  losing  all 
his  habitual  pomposity. 

"Entirely,"  replied  Mr.  Jobson,  "the  motion  for  a 
new  trial  has  been  overruled,  and  I  consider  it  my  duty 
to  say,  Mr.  Ormby,  that  an  appeal  will  result  in  nothing; 
the  slight  remnant  of  your  property  which  the  plaintiff 
in  this  action  is  willing  to  release  will  go,  if  you  appeal, 
and  that  I  understand  you  to  say  is  all  you  can  look  to 
for  the  support  of  your  family." 

"  The  sole  means  left !  and  that  a  mere  pittance  ! " 

Mr.  Ormby  sank  back  in  his  seat,  the  picture  of  despair. 

"Is  there  no  hope  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"None,  I  am  truly  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Ormby.  It  is  my 
duty  to  tell  you  that  there  is  no  means  whatever  of  pre 
venting  the  sale  of  Bayview,  and  your  only  course  is  to 
accept  the  proposition  of  Mr.  Russell,  surrender  the 
property,  and  take  what  he  offers  you.  There  may  be  a 
moderate  sum  after  the  payment  of  the  debt,  and  I  would 


122  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTO^. 

suggest  to  you  the  purchase  of  the  small  house  and 
grounds  near  Waterford.  You  will  then  have  a  home,  if 
an  humble  one." 

Mr.  Ormby  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and 
groaned.  He  was  at  last  face  to  face  with  ruin.  He  had 
heavily  encumbered  his  estate  nearly  twenty  years  before, 
the  interest  had  accumulated  from  year  to  year,  and  his 
creditor  had  at  last  demanded  payment,  and  Bayview 
must  go. 

Mr.  Ormby  remained  silent  for  half  an  hour,  during 
which  time  Mr.  Jobson  closely  scanned  the  paper  which 
he  held. 

"  There  is  no  hope  whatever,"  the  lawyer  said  at 
length,  "  and  I  had  better  inform  Mr.  Kussell's  counsel 
that  his  proposition  is  accepted. " 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow  !"  groaned  Mr.  Ormby  ;  "I  will 
then  call  and  see  you.  I  must  reflect.  Perhaps — yes, 
yes!"  he  added  eagerly.  "Wait  until  to-morrow,  Mr. 
Jobson  ! " 

And  again  he  murmured  the  word  "perhaps — "  look 
ing  as  he  did  so  toward  the  drawing-room. 

Was  he  thinking  of  Mr.  Gartrell  ? 

Mr.  Jobson  bowed  and  took  his  leave.  As  he  disap 
peared,  Mr.  Ormby  rang  for  a  servant. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Gartrell  that  I  should  be  glad  to  see  him 
before  he  goes,"  he  said. 


PRETTY   litRS.    QASTOtf.  123 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

WHAT  MCWEY-TROUBLE   BRINGS   SOME   MEH"  TO. 

THE  interview  between  Mr.  Gartrell  and  Marian 
Ormby  on  this  morning  was  of  a  painful  char 
acter — so  painful  that  we  shall  spare  the  reader  a  detailed 
account  of  it. 

For  some  time  now  Mr.  Gartrell  had  been  the  avowed 
suitor  of  the  young  lady.  "When  he  made  his  appearance 
and  took  possession  of  Cleaveland,  Mr.  Ormby  had  visited 
him,  invited  him  to  Bayview — and  this  invitation  Mr. 
Gartrell  had  promptly  accepted.  A  week  afterwards  he 
repeated  his  visit,  expressed  himself  delighted  with  the 
place,  the  house,  the  elegance  of  everything  at  Bayview — 
and  thereafter  his  visits  became  still  more  frequent,  and 
it  was  perfectly  obvious  that  these  visits  were  paid  to 
Marian  Ormby. 

The  poor  girl  was  pale  and  thin,  but  very  beautiful ; 
and  Mr.  Gartrell  no  doubt  concluded  that  a  young  lady 
of  such  attractions,  high  position,  and  worldly  advantages 
as  the  only  child  of  'the  wealthy  Mr.  Ormby  would  make 
a  most  appropriate  mistress  of  the  Cleaveland  establish 
ment.  He,  therefore,  coolly  proposed  himself  to  Mr. 


124  PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOtf. 

Ormby  as  his  future  son-in-law,  received  a  response  ap 
proving  of  his  proposition ;  then  he  redoubled  his  atten 
tions,  and  on  this  morning  offered  himself  in  an  impas 
sioned  speech  to  the  young  lady. 

Marian  flushed  to  her  temples  and  promptly  refused 
him.  Up  to  this  moment  she  had  struggled  against  her 
father's  despotic  authority  in  silence ;  had  listened  in  a 
sort  of  dumb  despair  to  his  arguments  in  favor  of  Mr. 
Gartrell,  and  had  not  flatly  refused  obedience.  Awed 
and  crushed  well  nigh  by  this  tyrannical  will,  she  had 
not  dared  to  rebel ;  but  now  when  the  question  of  actual 
union  with  one  whom  she  absolutely  disliked  was  pre 
sented  to  her  she  discarded  every  other  thought,  and  gave 
Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  a  "No  !"  so  distinct  and  unmistak 
able  that  he  colored  with  anger. 

"Well,  madam  !"  he  exclaimed,  "I  see  I  need  say  no 
more  !  I  will,  therefore,  bid  you  good  morning  ! " 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Marian,  rising  and  slightly 
inclining  her  pale  face. 

Mr.  Gartrell  went  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  house  in  a  rage,  when  a  servant  in  the 
hall  gave  him  the  message  from  Mr.  Ormby.  He 
hesitated,  a  singular  expression  of  cunning  came  to  his 
face,  and  he  went  into  the  library. 

An  hour  afterwards  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  came  out  of  the 
library,  and  going  to  the  place  where  his  horse  stood 
mounted  and  rode  away. 

Then  Mr.  Ormby,  who  had  been  standing  at  the 
window  of  the  library  looking  after  him,  rang  the  bell ; 
a  servant  came  and  Mr.  Ormby  said : 


PKETTY 


GASTOtf. 


125 


"  Say  to  Miss  Ormby  that  I  wish  to  see  her." 
Marian  promptly  came  ;  the  door  closed,  and  with  the 
exception  of  some  stiffed  sobs  from  the  library,  no  sound 
for  the  next  hour  disturbed  -the  stillness  at  Bay  view. 

Then  the  door  again  opened,  the  girl  came  out  looking 
as  pale  as  death  and  went  up-stairs,  and  Mr.  Ormby  made 


"GOOD  MORNING,    SIK,"    SAID  MARIAN,   RISING. 

his  appearance  behind  her,  red,  flurried,  gloomy,  and  in 
deed  the  picture  of  despair. 

"There  was  no  other  course!"  he  muttered.  "No 
other  course ! " 

And  taking  his  stick  from  its  place  in  the  corner,  from 


126  PEETTY  MBS.    GASTOK. 

the  force  of  long  habit,  he  went  through  the  front  door, 
and  out  upon  the  lawn,  trembling,  breathing  heavily, 
and  indeed  appearing  to  be  about  to  suffocate. 

What  had  taken  place  in  these  two  interviews  ?  In 
this  world — outside  the  pages  of  romances — men  are  not 
entirely  bad  as  they  are  not  entirely  good.  Mr.  Ormby 
was  a  mixture,  and — driven  to  the  wall  by  his  pecuniary 
troubles — allowed  the  bad  to  get  the  mastery  of  him  for 
the  time.  He  had  learned  from  Mr.  Gartrell  the  result 
of  the  interview  with  Marian ;  pooh-poohed  the  idea  of 
abandoning  the  affair  in  consequence  of  the  mere  caprice 
of  a  girl ;  assured  the  suitor  that  a  few  words  from  him 
self  would  set  matters  to  rights,  and  dismissed  Mr.  Gar- 
trell  with  the  assurance  that  he  might  call  again  in  two 
days,  when  all  the  trouble  would  have  disappeared. 

Mr.  Ormby  loved  his  daughter,  and  believed  perhaps 
that  he  was  acting  for  her  real  welfare.  Her  union  with 
Cleave  he  regarded  as  out  of  the  question,  her  marriage 
with  Gartrell  even  at  the  expense  of  some  disinclination 
as  the  better  course  ;  she  would  be  the  mistress  of  a  fine 
establishment,  and  not  be  dragged  down  with  his  own 
falling  fortunes.  So  he  sent  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  away 
with  that  understanding — not  alluding  even  to  his  money 
difficulties,  and  sending  for  Marian  proceeded  to  "use 
his  parental  authority." 

Let  us  pass  over  this  interview  as  over  the  first.  When 
Mr.  Ormby  had  demonstrated  his  good-sense  and  real 
affection  by  urging  the  marriage  with  Gartrell,  and 
Marian  declared  that  nothing  would  ever  induce  her  to 
take  such  a  step,  Mr.  Ormby  grew  angry  and  insisted. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON".  127 

When  Marian  exclaimed  that  she  could  not  and  would 
not.,  Mr.  Ormby,  more  angry  than  before,  threatened  her 
with  his  parental  displeasure.  When  she  still  refused, 
he  bade  her  go  and  reflect  upon  his  words,  and  prepare 
to  obey  him. 

Marian  had  then  gone  to  her  room,  flushed  and  trem 
bling,  and  Mr.  Ormby  no  less  flushed  and  trembling  even 
more  had  walked  out  to  indulge  his  wretchedness  where 
no  eye  could  see  him. 

Once  in  her  chamber,  the  unfortunate  young  lady  sat 
down,  leaned  her  elbow  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  her 
forehead  in  her  hand,  and  remained  for  more  than  an 
hour,  gazing  with  fixed  and  vacant  eyes  upon  the  carpet. 
What  was  passing  in  her  mind  ?  No  sound  escaped  from 
her  lips  to  indicate  the  current  of  her  secret  thoughts, 
but  the  laboring  bosom  as  she  drew  long  breaths,  the 
flushed  cheeks,  and  the  tearless  eyes  fixed  in  that  vacant 
stare  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  was  slowly  approaching 
some  resolution  from  which  she  shrank,  but  which  every 
instant  gathered  strength. 

When  at  length  she  rose  and  looked  around  her  with  a 
vague,  yearning,  piteous  glance,  these  words  issued  from 
her  lips  : 

"  Nothing  else  is  left  me  I " 


128  PRETTY  MRS.    GASTON. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

MB.    GARTRELL  AND  HIS  FRIEND  MR.    BROWN. 

WHEN  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  reached  Cleaveland  after 
his  return  from  Bayview,  he  beheld  the  portly 
Mr.  Brown  slowly  promenading  upon  the  great  portico 
in  front  of  the  mansion,  nourishing  his  cane,  swinging 
his  shoulders,  and  gazing  around  him  with  a  smile  full  of 
friendly  good-humor. 

Mr.  Brown  seemed  to  have  found  his  quarters  at 
Cleayeland  agreeable,  and  not  to  contemplate  an  early 
departure.  He  had,  indeed,  the  air  of  a  gentleman  per 
fectly  satisfied  with  his  surroundings,  in  no  haste  to 
change  them  and  entirely  "at  home."  As  he  gazed 
upon  the  fertile  fields  extending  in  front  of  the  great 
mansion  perched  upon  its  lofty  hill,  and  allowed  his  idle 
glance  to  wander  to  the  distant  river  seen  through  a  vista 
of  the  woods,  his  appearance  was  that  of  a  wealthy  landed 
proprietor,  not  ill-pleased  at  surveying  his  ample  posses 
sions. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Gartrell's  horse's  hoofs  resounded  upon 
the  avenue  a  groom  appeared,  and  was  ready  to  receive 
his  horse,  which  the  rider  abandoned  to  him,  walking 
rapidly  thereafter  up  the  broad,  marble  steps. 


PEETTY  MKS.    GASTOK.  129 

Mr.  Brown  had  walked  half  the  length  of  the  portico, 
and  was  now  between  the  two  middle  pillars  which  rose 
on  each  side  of  the  steps.  His  cane  was  held  perpendicu 
lar,  the  ferule  resting  upon  the  porch  ;  his  ample  waist 
coat  protruded  in  front ;  his  head,  surmounted  by  its 
tall,  black,  beaver  hat,  was  slightly  bent  toward  one 
shoulder,  and  Mr.  Brown  smiled. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !"  said  Mr.  Brown  in  a  jocose  yoice.  "So 
here  we  are,  my  young  friend  !  We  have  been  riding 
abroad  to  see  our  sweetheart  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gartrell,  cutting  some  atoms  of  dust 
from  his  elegant  boots  with  his  ivory-handled  riding- 
whip,  "and  a  cursed  slow  business  it  has  been,  my  dear 
Brown!" 

"  Slow,  eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Brown  inquiringly. 

"With  the  young  lady  at  least,"  said  Mr.  Gartrell 
walking  toward  the  front  door.  "The  fact  is,  my  dear 
friend,  I  have  been  flatly  refused — think  of  my  being 
refused!" 

"It  is  incredible!" 

"But  luckily,  the  paterfamilias  intervened — declared 
that  the  damsel's  views  were  not  his  views,  that  young 
ladies  never  knew  their  own  minds — and  the  affair  is 
where  it  was  before  or  in  a  better  condition.  Mere 
maiden  modesty,  you  see,  on  her  part." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  a  married  man  after  all,  eh  ? 
my  dear  Gartrell?" 

"I  think  so." 

"  You  are  going  to  be  the  happy  mate  of  this  hand 
some  damsel — you  say  she  is  handsome." 


130  PKETTY   MBS.    GASTOK. 

"Yes,  very." 

"  And  the  owner  of  her  papa's  acres,  since  he  has  no 
other  children." 

Mr.  G-artrell  knit  his  brows  and  was  silent  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"I  really  don't  know  about  that,  or  at  least  what  the 
extent  of  the  said  acres  will  be.  I  had  an  interview  with 
papa — a  lawyer  was  there  when  I  arrived.  Do  you  know, 
Brown,  the  fancy  strikes  me  that  the  old  man  is  embar 
rassed.  " 

"Embarrassed?" 

"  Yes,  and  that  will  never  do." 

Mr.  Brown  smiled  sweetly. 

"You  are  right,  but  perhaps  you  are  mistaken." 

"It  is  possible,  but  come  in.  This  is  dry  talk,  and 
I'm  as  thirsty  as  a  fish.  Any  one  called  ?  " 

"  Nobody,  my  dear  Allan  ;  let  me  call  you  by  your  first 
name  !  I  yearn  to  do  so.  My  affection  for  you,  my  dear 
Allan  !  but  you  will  laugh  at  me.  Come,  I  think  you 
said  champagne  !  'Tis  my  favorite  beverage." 

Mr.  Gartrell  laughed  a  rather  reckless  laugh,  and  led 
the  way  into  the  superb  dining-room,  where  a  silent  and 
respectful  servant  quickly  opened  a  bottle  of  champagne, 
and  then  another,  and  then  another. 

It  was  an  interesting  spectacle  to  behold  Mr.  Brown 
partaking  of  this  liquid.  He  held  out  his  glass,  watched 
the  sparkling  beverage  flowing  into  it,  raised  the  glass  as 
the  liquid  foamed  to  the  brim,  said  :  "Thank  you,  my 
friend  ! "  to  the  servant ;  and  then,  having  first  inspected 
the  color  of  the  wine  by  holding  it  up  between  his  eye 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf. 


131 


and  the  light,  permitted  it  slowly  to  disappear  down  his 
ample  throat. 

"  How  obliging  in  your  late  worthy  uncle  to  provide 
this  charming  vintage  for  his  dear  nephew,  yourself," 
said  Mr.  Brown  smiling  ;  "excellent  man  !  his  taste  in 
wines  was  irreproachable." 

"He  never  thought  of  me,  my  dear  Brown,"  said  Mr. 


'HIS  HEALTH 


Gartrell,  laughing  ;  "my  cousin  George  was  his  favorite, 
as  you  no  doubt  know.  A  good  boy,  my  cousin  George  ! 
His  health!" 

And  Mr.  Gartrell  emptied  his  second  bottle  and  grew 
red  in  the  face.  Mr.  Brown's  countenance  was  not 
flushed.  That  gentleman  never  changed.  Sometimes — 


132  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

after  his  fourth  or  fifth  bottle — he  grew  solemn  and  gave 
serious  advice ;  he  never  grew  tipsy,  which  Mr.  Gartrell 
was  now  becoming. 

"By  the  by,  Brown,"  said  Mr.  Gartrell,  "I  met  Mr. 
Daintrees,  a  gentleman  of  the  neighborhood,  to-day,  and 
he  invited  me  to  dine  with  him,  with  some  friends,  to 
morrow." 

"Ah?"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"I  accepted,  and  told  him  that  I  had  a  very  dear 
friend  on  a  visit  to  my  house — I  said  a  very  dear  friend, 
Brown!" 

"  Why  not  ?    And  I  am  invited  ?  " 

"  You  are  invited !"  said  Mr.  Gartrell,  with  imposing 
solemnity,  steadying  himself  by  grasping  a  corner  of  the 
table. 

"How  gratified  I  feel!"  said  Mr.  Brown,  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  waistcoat  and  smiling. 

"You  ought  to  be,  you  know,  Brown,"  said  Mr.  Gar 
trell  in  a  voice  which  had  grown  a  little  thick — "for  the 
first  time,  you  are  moving  in  good  society,  Brown — your 
origin,  Brown,  is — excuse  me,  Brown — your  origin,  you 
know,  is — low  !  Anybody  can  see  that." 

Mr.  Brown  laughed  heartily. 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  friend,"  he  said,  "and  I  am 
only  too  proud  to  associate  on  equal  terms  with  so  elegant 
a  young  gentleman  as  yourself." 

Mr.  Gartrell  staggered  slightly,  and  suddenly  scowling, 
observed : 

"  Curse  you— Brown— you  are  always  laughing  at  a 
man!" 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTON".  133 

"  Laughing,  my  dear  fellow  ?  Not  in  the  least.  Why 
should  I  laugh?" 

"  You  had  better  not — Fd  punch  your  old  nob,  Brown  ! 
What  do  you  mean  by  laughing  at  me,  I  say  ?" 

And  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  poured  out  another  glass  of 
champagne,  which  he  drained ;  after  which  he  burst  into 
loud  laughter. 

"Vivelajoie!  old  fellow!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  a 
jolly  good  thing  it  is  to  haye  you  here,  Brown  !  You  are 
my  best  friend — I  love  you,  Brown;  I  love  you  like  a 
brother!" 

Mr.  Brown  wiped  his  eyes  with  a  yellow  bandanna 
handkerchief. 

"Don't  talk  so,  my  dear  friend!  —  you  move  me  to 
tears!" 

"Fact !  And  you — take  an  interest — I — that  is  you — 
jolly  good  fellows — every  one — ha !  ha  I " 

After  which  Mr.  Gartrell  permitted  his  head  to  decline 
upon  the  arm  of  his  red  velvet  chair,  and  muttering  in 
articulately  slept. 

Mr.  Brown  placed  his  glass  upon  the  table  and  gazed 
at  Mr.  Gartrell  for  some  moments  in  silence.  His  ex 
pression  was  singular,  and  very  difficult  to  describe.  He 
ended  by  nodding  his  head  slowly  about  six  times,  smil 
ing  sweetly,  and  leaving  the  apartment. 

As  he  did  so,  a  servant  came  into  the  hall  bringing  the 
letter  bag.  There  were  but  two  letters,  one  for  Mr. 
Gartrell  on  some  neighborhood  business — a  fact  which 
Mr.  Brown  ascertained  after  the  departure  of  the  servant, 
by  adroitly  opening  it  without  in  the  least  tearing  the 


134  PRETTY   MES.    GASTOJf. 

envelope,  and  then  re-sealing  it  skilfully — and  one  to 
himself.  This  he  read  with  close  attention,  as  also  a 
paper  enclosed  in  it ;  after  which  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  match-case,  lit  a  match,  and  carefully  burned 
the  letter. 

"  Well,  the  game  is  in  my  own  hands  now,"  he  said. 
"  Shall  I  play  my  trump  ?  " 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON.  135 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


JACK  DAINTREES  ENTERTAINS  SOME  FRIENDS. 

WHEN  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  invited  his  friends  to  a 
bachelor  dinner  at  The  Lodge  he  prepared  for 
that  festivity  with  the  utmost  care.  On  the  present 
occasion  his  saddle  of  mutton  was  superb,  his  old  ham 
beyond  all  praise,  his  fowls  puffed  out  with  fat,  and  his 
wines  and  stronger  drinks  adapted  to  the  most  fastidious 
palates. 

It  was  Mr.  Daintrees's  habit  to  give  about  four  dinners 
a  year,  and  to  invite  every  gentleman  of  the  neighbor 
hood.  On  this  occasion,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  in 
cluded  Mr.  Gartrell,  whom  he  scarcely  knew,  and  Mr. 
GartrelPs  friend,  Mr.  Brown.  These  gentlemen  arriving 
late  completed  the  party,  and  the  convives  having  duly 
observed  the  bad  ceremony  of  drinking  toddy  on  their 
arrival,  sat  down  to  dinner  ;  after  which  they  adjourned 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  lighting  cigars,  began  to  play 
whist. 

A  bowl  of  punch  had  been  brewed  in  a  huge  variegated 
China  affair,  an  heirloom  in  the  Daintrees  family,  as  was 
the  antique  silver  ladle  used  to  fill  the  glasses  ;  and  this 


136  PKETTY   MES.    GASTOIT. 

inspiring  liquid  soon  began  to  tell  upon  the  tongues  and 
in  the  faces  of  the  guests.  They  laughed,  uttered  an 
hundred  jests,  and  a  gay  hubbub  ensued,  which  all  at 
once,  however,  became  stilled — the  company  gathering 
around  a  table  in  one  corner,  where  Mr.  Allan  G-artrell 
and  a  wealthy  young  planter  of  the  neighborhood  were 
playing  a  game  of  cards  to  themselves. 
_  On  the  table  before  them  lay  a  large  pile  of  bank-notes, 
and  the  figures  "  100"  on  a  number  of  these  notes  indi 
cated  that  the  players  were  playing  for  high  stakes.  The 
group  around  them  was  striking.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
party,  unused  to  such  betting,  lost  sight  of  their  jests 
and  fixed  their  eyes  intently  upon  the  players.  Every 
face  was  earnest,  and  more  than  one  person  protested  in 
a  low  voice  at  this  introduction  of  so  exciting  a  mode  of 
playing  into  the  quiet  assemblage  of  friends  and  neigh 
bors.  One  personage  only  seemed  to  be  highly  amused 
at  the  proceeding,  and  this  personage  was  Mr.  Brown. 
He  stood  with  the  thumb  of  his  right  hand  inserted  in 
the  armhole  of  his  ample  waistcoat ;  a  quiet  smile  upon 
his  face  ;  his  eyes  fixed  steadily,  without  winking,  upon 
Mr.  G-artrell ;  with  a  slight  drawing  down  of  the  corners 
of  his  lips,  which  was  very  striking. 

Suddenly  the  young  planter  threw  down  his  cards, 
exclaiming  : 

"I'll  play  no  more  !  You  have  the  devil's  own  luck, 
sir!" 

He  rose  from  the  table,  turning  red  and  then  pale. 
The  amount  which  he  had  lost  exceeded  two  thousand 
dollars,  received  on  that  day  from  the  sale  of  his  wheat. 


PKETTY   MBS.    GASTON.  137 

Mr.  G-artrell  quietly  thrust  the  bank-notes  into  his 
pocket,  rose  in  his  turn,  and  approaching  the  speaker, 
said  : 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  expression,  sir  ? — that  I 
have  played  unfairly  ! " 

The  young  planter  was  about  to  reply  when  a  solid 


'NO  OFFENCE  IS  MEANT  BY  EITHER  GENTLEMAN,  I  AM  SURE. 


figure  interposed   between   him  and   his  adversary — the 
figure  of  Mr.  Brown  ;  and  that  gentleman  said  quietly  : 
"  No  offence  is  meant  by  either  gentleman,,  I  am  sure." 


138  PKETTY  MRS.    GASTOiff. 

Half  turning  to  Mr.  Gartrell  Mr.  Brown  added  with  a 
peculiar  shutting  down  of  his  eyelids,  and  a  glance,  keen, 
penetrating,  and  rapid  as  a  flash  of  lightning, 

"Am  I  wrong?" 

Gartrell  could  not  sustain  the  glance.  His  eyes  fell 
and  he  muttered, 

"No  offence  meant  I" 

"Honor  is  satisfied,"  Mr.  Brown  said  coolly;  "and 
now,  Mr.  Gartrell,  as  it  is  late,  shall  we  return,  sir  ?  " 

Gartrell  looked  moody  and  reluctant ;  but  a  second 
glance  from  Mr.  Brown  decided  him.  He  bowed  stiffly 
to  the  company  and  went  out  with  his  companion,  accom 
panied  to  the  door  by  the  hospitable  Mr.  Daintrees. 

No  sooner  had  the  two  horsemen  gotten  out  of  sight 
of  the  house  than  Mr.  Brown  said  : 

"  How  much  did  you  win,  my  dear  young  friend  ?" 

"Two  thousand  dollars." 

"The  old  trick?" 

Mr.  Gartrell  was  silent  a  minute. 

""Well,  yes — you  are  the  very  devil  for  keen  eyes, 
Brown?" 

"  That  is  my  reputation,  my  dear  sir ;  and  now  I'll 
trouble  you  to  hand  me  the  roll  of  notes — a  mere  loan 
which,  of  course,  I  will  repay." 

"  Hand  you  the  notes  ! " 

"If  agreeable." 

Mr.  Gartrell  burst  forth  into  imprecations,  in  the 
midst  of  which  Mr.  Brown  uttered  a  few  quiet  words  in 
a  very  low  tone.  These  words  seemed  to  produce  a 
remarkable  effect  upon  Mr.  Gartrell.  He  ceased  to  rage, 


PEETTY  MRS.    GASTOtf.  139 

uttered  an  expiring  growl,  and  drew  forth  the  bank 
notes,  which  he  handed  to  his  companion. 

Mr.  Brown's  proceeding  thereupon  was  not  compli 
mentary.  He  carefully  counted  the  notes  and  said  : 

"  Eighteen  hundred — now  for  the  other  two  !" 

Mr.  Gartrell  drew  them  from  his  sleeve  with  a  low 
curse,  and  they  were  politely  taken  by  Mr.  Brown,  who 
placed  the  entire  amount  in  his  breast-pocket — revealing 
as  he  did  so  the  handle  of  a  small  revolver. 

"  Well,  that  is  done  with,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr. 
Brown;  "and  now  let  us  talk.  I  must  lecture  you  a 
little  on  your  imprudence." 


140  PEETTY  MRS.    GASTO^. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE    LAWYER    AKB    THE    LUMBEK-AGENT. 

WHEN  Mr.  Brown  rose  on  the  following  morning, 
and  after  an  elaborate  toilet  descended  to  the 
breakfast-room,  he  was  the  picture  of  smiling  enjoyment, 
and  beamed  on  all  around  him  with  serene  good-humor. 

Not  seeing  his  host,  he  inquired  in  a  friendly  manner 
of  the  silent  and  respectful  dining-room  servant  whether 
his  master  had  risen,  and  receiving  the  information  that 
Mr.  Gartrell  had  breakfasted  an  hour  before,  and  ridden 
out  to  see  the  manager  of  his  estate,  Mr.  Brown  smiled 
once  more,  said,  "Well,  James,  I  find  I  must  breakfast 
by  myself,"  and  proceeded  to  partake  of  that  meal  with 
an  excellent  appetite. 

Mr.  Brown  then  rose,  and  uttering  a  little  sigh  of  con 
tent,  strolled  forth  upon  the  portico,  looking  around  him 
with  a  pleased  expression  upon  the  landscape. 

"My  young  friend  Gartrell  has  a  really  admirable 
property  here,"  soliloquized  the  worthy  Mr.  Brown,  in 
dulging  as  he  did  so  in  his  blandest  smile;  "how  for 
tunate  he  is  !  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  be  born  with  a 
silver  spoon  in  one's  mouth  !  I  think  my  young  friend 
must  have  made  his  appearance  in  this  world  with  a  roll 
of  bank-notes  in  his  infantile  grasp  !  And  that  reminds 


PRETTY   MES.    GASTOK.  141 

me — I  think  I  have  about  me  something  of  that  descrip 
tion!" 

Mr.  Brown  inserted  his  hand  between  his  ample  waist 
coat  and  his  shirt,  deftly  unbuttoned  a  secret  belt  which 
never  left  him,  and  drew  forth  the  bank-notes  won  on 
the  day  before  by  Mr.  G-artrell.  These  he  now  proceeded 
to  count ;  after  which  he  quickly  restored  them  to  their 
hiding-place. 

"All  right,,  as  I  supposed/'  he  said;  "my  door  was 
locked  as  usual  during  the  night,  but  accidents  some 
times  happen ! " 

Mr.  Brown  then  went  into  the  hall,  put  on  his  tall, 
black  hat,  took  his  large  cane,  and  coming  out  again 
proceeded  to  walk  to  and  fro  upon  the  long  portico,  with 
the  air  of  a  gentleman  enjoying  and  endeavoring  to  pro 
mote  still  further  a  mild  digestion.  He  had  gone  twice 
the  length  of  the  portico  and  had  turned  to  continue  his 
promenade,  when  the  sound  of  hoofs  upon  the  avenue 
attracted  his  attention.  He  looked  up,  saw  a  person  on 
horseback,  and  this  person  dismounted  and  came  up  the 
steps,  saying  as  he  did  so,  in  a  stiff  and  formal  voice  : 

"  Mr.  Brown,  I  believe  ?" 

"At  your  service,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown  with  a  polite 
air;  "may  Task ?" 

"My  name  is  Jobson  —  attorney-at-law  from  Water- 
ford." 

"Ah  !  my  dear  sir,  I  am  really  delighted — have  often 
heard  of  you — and  as  a  gentleman  of  the  highest  char 
acter.  Walk  in,  Mr.  Jobson." 

Mr.  Brown  waved  his  hand  in  a  cordial  way;  ushered 


143  PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

Mr.  Jobson  into  the  drawing-room;  and  they  seated 
themselves  in  two  easy  chairs  by  the  centre-table.  Mr. 
Jobson  looked  more  wiry  than  usual,  and  his  glance  was 
piercing  and  suspicious.  Mr.  Brown  on  the  contrary 
was  all  smiles  and  sweetness — a  bland  good-humor  ex 
panded  itself  over  his  full  and  smiling  countenance,  and 
his  portly  figure,  even. 

"I  called  to  see  Mr.  Gartrell  on  business,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Jobson. 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  he  is  temporarily  absent,"  said 
Mr.  Brown. 

" Humph!"  said  Mr.  Jobson. 

"But  perhaps  I  might  take  his  place,  my  dear  sir," 
said  Mr.  Brown.  "  The  proposal  may  surprise  you,  but 
I  am  an  old  and  intimate  friend  of  young  Mr.  Gartrell. 
I  may  say  I  am  quite  well  acquainted  with  his  private 
affairs,  and  I  think  I  may  add,  Mr.  Jobson,  that  he 
seldom  takes  any  business  step,  if  I  am  near,  without 
consulting  me." 

Mr.  Jobson's  glance  had  not  lost  its  suspicion,  but 
there  was  a  smiling  frankness  in  Mr.  Brown's  manner 
which  affected  him  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  that  what  I  have 
to  say  to  Mr.  Gartrell  is  very  confidential ;  and  as  he  is 
governed  so  much  by  your  advice,  I  will  proceed  to  speak 
of  the  business  that  has  brought  me." 

"Do  so,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown.  "I  appreciate 
your  confidence. " 

"You  are  probably  aware,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Job- 
son,  "of  the  somewhat  extraordinary  character  of  the 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  143 

late  Mr.  Cleave's  will  or  rather  of  a  codicil  subsequently 
discovered.  In  his  will  this  estate  was  left  to  Mr.  Cleave, 
Junior,  his  nephew;  in  the  codicil  it  was  made,  however, 
a  condition  that  Mr.  Cleave,  Junior,  should  marry  a 
Miss  Bell  before  his  twenty-fifth  year  or  surrender  the 
property  to  another  nephew,  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell." 

"  I  had  heard  of  the  codicil,  my  dear  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,  there  was  one  defect  in  it.  It  was  not 
worth  the  paper  it  was  written  upon,  for  there  were  no 
witnesses  to  the  instrument — it  was  waste  paper ;  and  yet 
young  Mr.  Cleave,  acting  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  deli 
cacy,  surrendered  the  estate,  and  is  now  nearly  penni 
less!" 

At  this  statement  Mr.  Brown  lost  all  his  smiles,  and 
looked  at  the  speaker  with  unaffected  astonishment. 

"  Is  it  possible  !"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  "and  Mr.  Gartrell  takes  the 
estate;  supplants  Mr.  Cleave  with  a  young  lady,  Miss 
Ormby,  to  whom  he  was  engaged  to  be  married ;  sees  his 
cousin  sunk  in  poverty  without  a  care  ;  and  does  not  give 
a  thought  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Cleave  might  have  had 
this  codicil  set  aside  by  simply  moving  his  finger,  in  any 
court  in  this  commonwealth." 

"Humph!  humph!  humph!"  said  Mr.  Brown;  "I 
am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Jobson,  that  this  makes  out  our 
friend  Mr.  Gartrell  something  like — I  must  say  it — a — 
rascal!" 

Mr.  Jobson  rose  in  his  chair,  exclaiming  : 

"I  honor  you,  sir!  Yes,  it  was  a  most  discreditable 
proceeding  in  Mr.  Gartrell — most  discreditable — and  I 


144  PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON. 

have  come  here  to-day,  without  Mr.  Cleave's  knowledge 
or  consent,,  to  say  to  Mr.  Gartrell  that  he  is 'bound  in 
common  honesty  to  release  to  his  cousin  a  portion  of  this 
property — to  make  some  fair  compromise ;  it  is  not  yet 
too  late,  I  meant  to  tell  him,  to  file  a  bill  in  chancery 
and  open  upon  this  whole  question  ! " 

Mr.  Brown  listened  in  silence.  His  face  was  thought 
ful,  and  he  slowly  scraped  his  cheek  with  his  fat  fingers. 
Then  he  shook  his  head. 

"Mr.  Jobson,"  he  said,  "you  are  an  honest  man." 

Mr.  Jobson  grunted  a  slight  acknowledgment. 

<f  Shall  I  give  you  some  advice  ?" 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

"Leave  this  affair — to  me." 

"To  you,  sir?" 

"To  me.  I  will  have  something  to  say  to  you  on  the 
subject  within — let  me  see — within,  say  the  next  ten 
days." 

Mr.  Jobson  looked  suspiciously  at  the  speaker,  but  Mr. 
Brown's  countenance  was  impenetrable. 

"  Upon  one  or  two  points,"  continued  that  gentleman, 
"I  should  be  glad  to  have  some  information.  Miss 
Ormby,  you  say,  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr, 
Cleave — why  does  she  marry  Mr.  Gartrell  ?" 

"Her  father  is  forcing  her  to  do  so." 

"Why?" 

"Mr.  Cleave  is  poor  and  Mr.  Gartrell  is  rich." 

"Ah,  yes  !  what  a  rascally  affair!"  said  Mr.  Brown 
with  great  candor ;  "and  I  will  find  Miss  Ormby  at — that 
is  to  say,  she  resides  at  her  father's  ?" 


PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  145 

"Certainly." 

"There  is  also  another  young  lady  concerned  in  this 
whole  affair,  sir ;  a  Miss  Bell,  I  think  it  is  ?  " 

"Yes,  the  adopted  daughter  of  Mr.  Cleave,  Senior, 
whom  he  wished  his  nephew  to  marry." 

"  She  is  also  a  resident  of  this  neighborhood  ?" 

"  She  lives  at  The  Hollies,  the  residence  of  her  cousin, 
Mrs.  Gaston,  some  miles  from  this  place." 

"  The  Hollies,  eh  ?    I  can  find  it,  I  suppose." 

"You  wish  to  see  Miss  Bell  ?" 

Mr.  Brown  smiled  sweetly  and  appeared  to  remember 
himself. 

"Not  necessarily,  my  dear  sir;  not  necessarily.  I  am 
an  old  gentleman,  you  see — quite  alone  in  the  world — 
and  I  like  young  faces.  Well,  I  believe  this  is  all.  And 
now,  while  I  think  of  it,  you  have  probably  heard  of  my 
errand  to  this  neighborhood;  can  you  inform  me,  my 
dear  sir,  of  the  price  of  lumber  in  this  country  ?  " 

When  Mr.  Brown  uttered  the  word  lumber  his  face 
assumed  an  expression  of  the  highest  enjoyment,  and  his 
sweet  smile  gradually  expanded  into  an  unmistakable 
grin.  When  Mr.  Jobson  gave  him  a  matter-of-fact  reply 
to  his  question,  he  propounded  others  on  the  same  sub 
ject,  listened  with  the  same  air  of  enjoyment,  and  finally 
uttered  a  brief ^  husky  but  highly  expressive  laugh. 

When  Mr.  Jobson  took  his  leave  at  length,  weary  of 
waiting  for  Mr.  Gartrell,  that  strange  laugh  was  still  in 
his  ears. 


146  PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

WHAT  OCCURRED  AT  THE  HOLLIES  OK  A  SUMMER  NIGHT. 

IT  was  an  exquisite  night,  and  The  Hollies  was  bathed 
in  a  flood  of  moonlight  which  slept  upon  the  trees 
weighed  down  with  deep  green  foliage,  on  the  sward  as 
smooth  as  an  emerald  sea,  and  on  the  flowers  which, 
grouped  in  clusters  everywhere,  seemed  to  open  their 
fresh  leaves  and  variegated  blooms  to  the  sweet  and 
caressing  airs  of  the  summer  night. 

The  Hollies  was,  indeed,  a  picture.  The  white  trellises 
gleamed  in  the  mellow  splendor,  the  white  gravel  way 
around  the  circle  resembled  a  band  of  silver,  and  some 
rustic  seats  scattered  here  and  there  beneath  the  great 
cedars  and  hollies  cast  picturesque  shadows,  reproducing 
on  the  grass  the  outlines  of  their  gnarled  and  fantastic 
forms. 

It  was  one  of  those  nights,  and  one  of  those  scenes, 
too,  which  seem  made  for  lovers ;  and  some  personages 
who  had  either  reached  or  were  approaching  the  fairy 
land  of  love  were  enjoying  its  tranquil  splendors. 

On  the  portico  sat  Mrs.  Gaston  not  far  from  Mr.  Jack 
Daintrees.  But — oh  !  horror ! — an  excellent  lady  of  the 
neighborhood  with  her  two  charming  daughters,  respect- 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  147 

ively  thirty-four  and  thirty-eight,  had  called  to  spend  the 
evening,  and  was  crazing  the  unfortunate  and  tantalized 
Mr.  Daintrees  with  all  the  gossip  of  the  day.  Mr.  Dain- 
trees  said  nothing.  He  was  engaged  in  calculating  how 
long  this  thing  could  continue — whether  there  was  any 
possibility  of  its  ceasing  before  midnight.  Long  experi 
ence  told  him  that  there  was  little  or  no  probability 
thereof  ;  and  with  gloomy  eyes  he  gazed  most  enviously 
upon  a  couple  seated  upon  one  of  the  rustic  seats,  half  in 
moonlight,  half  in  shadow. 

These  two  persons  were  Kalph  Harrington  and  Annie. 
The  young  lady  was  looking  at  the  moon  with  a  coquet 
tish  smile  upon  her  lips,  and  Harrington  was  leaning  his 
elbow  upon  the  back  of  the  rustic  seat.  He  had  his  face 
turned  toward  her,  and  the  expression  of  his  counte 
nance  was  as  timid  as  that  of  a  boy  approaching  his  first 
avowal. 

In  three  days  this  wonder  had  been  accomplished  by 
that  ruler  of  the  world — love.  Harrington  was  no  longer 
recognizable.  He  had  been  easy,  negligent,  prone  to 
satirical  comment,  and  rather  too  self-possessed  and 
"jaunty"  to  impress  you  with  a  very  exalted  idea  of  his 
modesty.  He  was  now  as  shrinking  as  a  girl — was  ac 
tually  coloring ;  and  Annie  was  smiling  mischievously. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  your  health  and  joy  have  come 
back  !  You  look  so  beautiful  as  you  sit  now  in  the  moon 
light!" 

It  was  even  more  the  tone  than  the  words  that  brought 
the  quick  blush  to  Annie's  cheeks. 

"And  you  too,  sir,"  she  said  looking  at  him  for  a  sin- 


148  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTON. 

gle  instant  and  then  back  to  the  moon,  "you  too  look  a 
great  deal  stronger  than  you  did." 

"I  ani  happier !" 

Annie  said  nothing. 

"I  was  not  happy,  and  it  made  me  thin  and  pale. 
You  do  not  know  it — I  hope  you  never  will — but  unhap- 
piness  causes  that." 

"I  know  it,"  Annie  said,  "but  we  must  not  think  of 
past  troubles." 

Harrington  looked  at  her  quickly.  What  lover  ever 
lived  who  did  not  fancy  that  the  nothings  uttered  by  the 
beloved  one  had  a  secret  meaning  ? 

"I  have  forgotten  all  about  my  distress,"  said  Har 
rington  blushing  and  faltering.  "You  alone  could " 

"  And  I,"  said  Annie  laughing,  "have  no  recollection 
of  my  wetting  or  my  cough,  or  anything  !  I  am  happy 
to  say  that  I  never  felt  better  than  I  do  now — my  appe 
tite  is  enormous — and  Auntie  says  I  am  no  longer  in  the 
least  interesting." 

The  reason  why  Miss  Annie  gave  this  prosaic  turn  to 
the  conversation  was  that  she  had  not  the  least  intention 
that  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington  should  ask  her  a  certain  ques 
tion — which  it  was  perfectly  plain  to  her  feminine  in 
stinct  he  intended  to  ask — in  so  public  a  place,  and  so 
very  soon  after  his  resumption  of  friendly  visits  at  The 
Hollies.  This  young  lady  had  indeed  determined  to 
lead  the  young  gentleman  a  long  and  weary  chase — to 
tantalize  him  with  doubt — nay,  if  the  fancy  seized  her, 
to  refuse  him — at  first. 

And  the  gay,  the  self-possessed,  the  satirical  Dr.  Ralph 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK.  149 

Harrington  was  like  wax  in  the  hands  of  this  little 
"country  girl!"  She  laughed,  looked  over  her  shoul 
der  at  him,  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes,  enjoyed  exqui 
sitely  his  blushes  and  timidity,  and  when  he  was  rendered 
desperate  and  seized  her  hand,  then  it  was  that  the 
young  witch  proved  finally  too  adroit  for  her  lover. 

"  There  is  Auntie  calling  us  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  The 
ice-cream  !  the  ice-cream  !  You  don't  know  how  deli 
cious  it  is  !  I  mixed  it  myself — it  is  strawberry  !  The 
very  last ! " 

Then  was  beheld  the  spectacle  of  a  fairy  clad  in  the 
last  fashion,  flitting  through  the  moonlight  toward  the 
house,  followed  ruefully  by  a  male  figure  whose  face  was 
very  much  downcast.  The  fairy  laughed  a  low  laugh  of 
triumph  as  she  disappeared  up  the  steps  ;  her  companion 
blushed,  and  forgetting  that  he  was  the  cool,  the  self- 
possessed,  the  superior  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington,  looked  as 
awkward  as  a  school-boy  ! 

"As  I  told  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gaston,  there  is  no 
doubt  about  the  fact  that  Miss  Quigby  did  encourage  old 
Mr.  Welby.  Just  to  think  !  he  is  at  least  sixty  years  of 
age,  and  what  Miss  Quigby  could  mean  by  setting  her 
cap  at  such  an  old  gentleman,  who  has  grandchildren  as 
old  as  she  is  nearly  and  puts  his  feet  in  flannel  to  drive 
off  the  rheumatism  whenever  it  is  the  least  cold,  I  leave 
it  to  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gaston,  to  say,  and  I  know  you 
will  think  with  me  that " 

This  was  the  species  of  conversation  which  our  friend 
Mr.  Daintrees  had  been  listening  to  for  precisely  two 
hours  and  three  quarters.  His  mind  was  slowly  giving 


150  PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK. 

way.  He  struggled  against  the  spell  in  vain.  He  en 
deavored  to  reflect  upon  other  things,  and  not  to  listen- 
useless.  He  swore  internally,  and  might  have  done  some 
thing  desperate,  when  Mrs.  Gaston  rose,  and  interrupting 
the  ceaseless  flow  of  words  said  sweetly  to  her  lady  visitor : 

{<  May  I  give  you  some  ice-cream  ?" 

The  ice-cream  had  the  desired  effect.  It  checked  the 
torrent.  There  is  indeed  some  occult  property  in  coun 
try  ice-cream,  rich  and  pervaded  by  strawberries,  which 
on  summer  evenings  temporarily  paralyzes  the  oral  pow 
ers  of  the  most  talkative.  Mrs.  Gaston's  was  served  in  a 
great  cut  glass  bowl,  towering  above  a  slender  stem,  and 
the  saucers  were  covered  with  flowers  in  their  natural 
colors,  upon  which  the  exquisite  substance  reposed  in 
conscious  loveliness.  The  lady  visitor  and  her  daughters 
partook  of  three  saucers  each,  and  as  they  rose  thereafter 
and  declared  that  they  must  really  return  home,  a  sud 
den  gleam  of  joy  darted  across  the  soul  of  Mr.  Jack 
Daintrees. 

His  opportunity  had  come,  or  would  come  on  the 
departure  of  these  excellent  people.  Fate  at  last  was 
propitious.  Even  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  would  not  be  in 
his  way.  That  gentleman  had  finished  his  ice-cream ; 
invited  Miss  Annie  to  walk  with  him  in  the  moonlight, 
received  for  reply  a  polite  regret  that  she  could  not 
venture  out  so  late  just  after  being  sick  ;  and  thereupon 
Dr.  Ralph  Harrington,  sad,  but  resigned  and  willing  to 
await  a  more  favorable  opportunity,  took  leave  of  the 
company,  and  rode  away  toward  Waterford. 

The  crowning  joy  for  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  succeeded. 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOK.  151 

Mrs.  Gaston's  lady  visitors  put  on  their  bonnets ;  as 
sumed,  after  the  fashion  of  ladies,  the  air  of  persons  just 
on  the  point  of  departure  ;  remained  in  that  attitude 
conversing  for  half  an  hour  precisely  ;  and  at  last,  as  the 
carriage  had  been  waiting  for  some  time,  entered  upon 
the  final  ceremonies  of  feminine  leave-taking.  These 
consisted  in  kissing  Mrs.  Gaston  and  Annie,  and  in  say 
ing  they  would  be  "so  glad"  to  see  them — they  (( really 
must  come  soon,"  and  then  a  brief  conversation  of  not 
more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  followed  as  the  visitors 
descended  the  steps. 

Never  was  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  more  delighted  than  in 
offering  his  assistance  to  the  ladies  on  this  occasion.  He 
bowed  with  the  sweetest  smiles,  gently  pushed  the  some 
what  angular  elbows  of  the  three  ladies  as  they  got  into 
the  carriage,  closed  the  door  with  a  sigh  of  delight,  and 
saw  the  vehicle  roll  away  with  the  devoutest  thanks. 

At  last !  His  hour  had  come  !  The  carriage  had  rolled 
around  the  circle,  passed  through  the  tall  gateway  which 
closed  with  a  clang,  and  was  heard  rattling  away.  Even 
Annie  seemed  to  feel  that  it  would  be  heartless  in  her  to 
remain  down-stairs,  and  ran  by  Mrs.  Gaston  with  a 
wicked  smile  upon  her  lips,  which  brought  a  rosy  blush 
to  the  face  of  the  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston,  exclaiming  as  she 
did  so : 

"I  must  go  and  fix  my  hair,  Auntie!  It's  tumbled 
down,  and  will  take  me — at  least  an  hour ! " 

Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  could  have  embraced  the  speaker 
out  of  pure  gratitude.  But  he  had  no  thoughts  now  for 
any  one  but  the  pretty  widow.  There  she  stood  in  the 


152  PKETTY  MKS.    GASTOl*. 

moonlight  with  her  rosy  cheeks,  her  pouting  lips,  her 
little  white  hand  raising  to  those  lips  the  small  lace  hand 
kerchief,  while  with  the  other  hand,  on  which  a  diamond 
sparkled,  she  rearranged  the  white  rose  in  her  hair. 

To  state  that  Mr.  Daintrees  was  flooded,  well  nigh 
drowned  in  happiness,  as  he  gazed  upon  this  figure, 
would  be  scarcely  to  express  the  whole  truth.  He  was 
the  most  fortunate  of  men !  Who  but  must  envy  his 
lot  ?  Had  not  a  hundred  glances  from  those  eyes  in 
formed  him  that  he  was  not  indifferent  to  their  owner  ? 
Had  not  he  poured  forth  his  love  in  the  swamp  ?  Had 
not  his  angel  then  glanced  sweetly  at  him,  cast  down  her 
eyes,  and  when  he  besought  her  to  utter  but  "  one  word," 
replied  with  blushes  that  she  would  prefer  uttering  it 
"  at  The  Hollies  ?"  What  other  meaning  could  she  have 
than  this,  that  the  answer  would  be  "yes  ?"  It  was  with 
such  thoughts  passing  through  his  mind  that  Mr.  Jack 
Daintrees  now  approached  the  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  as  she 
stood  in  the  moonlight  watching  the  gate  through  which 
her  visitors  had  just  disappeared ;  and  eager,  ardent, 
thrilling  with  the  near  approach  of  the  supremely  happy 
moment,  stretched  out  his  hand  to  take  the  pretty  hand 
of  the  widow. 

It  would  please  the  writer  of  this  page  to  leave  the 
figures  thus — to  discontinue  the  narrative — and  to  let  fall 
the  veil  of  convenance  before  Mr.  Daintrees  and  Mrs. 
Gaston,  leaving  the  rest  to  the  imagination. 

But  such  a  proceeding  is  impossible.  Events  occurred 
suddenly  which  must  be  recorded.  Fate  rushed  upon 
Daintrees. 


PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOtf. 


153 


Just  as  lie  stretched  out  his  hand  to  take  Mrs.  G-aston's, 
cries  were  heard  one  or  two  hundred  yards  in  front  of 
The  Hollies,  and  the  alarmed  character  of  the  outcries  in 
question  was  unmistakable. 

"Oh  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gaston,   "something  has 


CRIES  WEBB  HEARD  ONE  OR    TWO  HUNDRED    TARDS    IN    FRONT  OF    THE 
HOLLIES. 

happened  !   An  accident !   Perhaps  fatal !   Do  make  haste 

Mr.  Daintrees ! " 

Mr.  Daintrees   groaned.     He  was   not  an   unamiable 
person,  but  he  went  somewhat  deliberately.     In  fact  he 


154  PKETTY    MRS.    GASTO^T. 

met  the  three  lady  visitors  walking  back  toward  The 
Hollies. 

f '  Oh !  my  dear  Daintrees  !  such  a  terrible  accident ! 
My  poor  nerves  ! — just  to  think,  and  there  is  Mrs.  Gaston 
running  to  meet  us,  and  Miss  Annie  !  Oh  !  my  dear  Mrs. 
Gaston !  it  is  a  Providence  that  we  were  not  all  killed  ! 
The  wheel,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gaston !  the  wheel !  It  sud 
denly  fell  to  pieces  with  a  crash  !  Thomas  the  driver  says 
it  was  dislied!  What  is  ( dished  ?'  I  only  know  that  we 
have  mercifully  escaped  death  ! " 

Having  presented  a  very  slight  portion  of  the  excellent 
lady's  observations  we  proceed  to  state  in  one  sentence 
that  the  front  wheel  of  the  carriage  had  run  over  a  rock 
and  broken  to  pieces,  thereby  disabling  the  vehicle. 

The  result  was  that  the  lady  visitors  were  compelled  to 
spend  the  night  at  The  Hollies — Mrs.  Gaston  promising 
to  send  them  home  on  the  next  morning  in  her  carriage, 
if  their  own  was  irreparable.  To  this  they  consented, 
and  having  seated  herself  comfortably  in  the  drawing- 
room,  the  worthy  old  lady  proceeded  to  narrate  once 
more,  with  every  particular  and  at  extreme  length,  her 
fearful  accident  and  providential  escape. 

Mr.  Daintrees  did  not  hear  this  narrative.  Uttering  a 
groan  which  might  have  melted  the  heart  of  his  bitterest 
enemy,  he  had  taken  his  leave,  and  was — we  are  sorry  to 
say — swearing  on  his  way  back  to  The  Lodge. 


PBETTY   MRS.    GASTON".  155 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


WHAT   OCCUEEED   AT   BAYVIEW. 

OK  the  day  after  this  scene,  at  about  noon,  Mr. 
Ormby  was  seated  in  his  library,  reading  a  law- 
paper.  The  unfortunate  man  was  the  ghost  of  himself. 
In  a  few  days  he  seemed  to  have  grown  ten  years  older, 
and  his  appearance  no  longer  indicated,  in  the  remotest 
degree,  that  patronizing  feeling  of  superiority  which  he 
had  formerly  indulged  upon  all  occasions. 

Pecuniary  trouble  and  domestic  discord  had  changed 
Mr.  Ormby.  He  was  sullen,  gloomy,  gruff,  and  scowled 
when  people  spoke  to  him.  The  sale  of  Bayview  seemed 
unavoidable  unless  some  means  could  be  devised  to  sat 
isfy,  or  at  least  temporarily  soften  his  inexorable  creditor. 
But  what  means  were  possible  to  him  ?  His  credit  was 
utterly  gone — he  could  not  borrow  upon  real  estate 
already  covered  by  a  lien  to  the  extent  of  its  value — but 
one  resource  was  left  him  ;  the  marriage  of  Marian  and 
Allan  Gartrell.  If  that  could  be  effected,  he  would  be 
able  to  gain  time.  His  creditor  would  indulge  him  a 
little  longer,  if  hopes  were  held  out  of  payment,  through 
the  instrumentality  of  so  wealthy  a  son-in-law.  That 


156  PEETTY  MRS.    GASTOK. 

was  the  sole  and  only  means — the  single  barrier  between 
him  and  utter  bankruptcy  ;  he  owed  it  to  his  family,  to 
his  daughter  herself — the  unhappy  man  reflected — to 
effect  the  match  :  and  Mr.  Ormby,  who  had  let  the  law- 
paper  fall  from  his  grasp,  to  indulge  in  this  train  of 
gloomy  thought,  saw  all  at  once  through  the  window  the 
approaching  figure  of  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell. 

Mr.  Gartrell  was  met  at  the  door  by  Mr.  Ormby,  and 
conducted  into  the  library,  where  a  prolonged  interview 
took  place  between  them.  "With,  a  sort  of  sinking  at  his 
heart  Mr.  Ormby  perceived,  or  thought  that  he  per 
ceived,  a  decided  diminution  in  Mr.  Allan  GartrelFs 
anxiety  to  consummate  the  marriage  with  his  daughter. 
The  truth  was  that  Allan  Gartrell,  Esq.,  had  spent  some 
hours  in  profound  reflection,  after  hearing  certain  rumors 
of  Mr.  Ormby's  pecuniary  troubles,  and  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  perhaps  it  would  not  be  so  very  desirable 
after  all  to  wed  the  daughter  of  a  possible  bankrupt. 
This  he  dissembled,  however,  simply  protesting  against 
the  employment  of  any  means  of  coercing  the  young 
lady's  action — he  could  not  consent,  he  said,  to  force 
himself  upon  any  family.  To  which  Mr.  Ormby  re 
sponded  that  his  daughter  was  actuated  simply  by  ca 
price — there  could  and  would  be  no  real  difficulty — and, 
leaving  the  matter  in  that  ambiguous  condition,  Mr. 
Allan  Gartrell  bowed  and  departed. 

This  interview  drove  the  depressed,  angry,  and  nervous 
Mr.  Ormby  well-nigh  to  frenzy.  Here  was  the  rich  suitor 
already  suspicious  and  growing  cool  !  He  had  no  doubt 
heard  the  rumor  of  the  approaching  sale  of  Bayview.  Or 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  157 

if  he  had  not  heard  it,  he  would  hear  it !  There  was  no 
time  to  be  lost. 

Thereupon  Mr.  Ormby  rose  nervously,  jerked  down  the 
bell-cord,  a  servant  ran,  and  a  message  was  sent  to  Ma 
rian  that  her  father  wished  to  see  her  in  the  library. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  the  poor  girl,  as  white  as  a 
ghost,  and  fearfully  thin,  made  her  appearance,  slowly 
dragging  her  steps  toward  her  father.  At  sight  of 
her  pale  face  his  heart  bled  within  him ;  but  nerving 
himself  with  the  coolness  of  a  ruined  and  despairing 
man,  he  announced  his  will — that  she  should  prepare  to 
marry  Mr.  Gartrell  in  three  days  from  that  time. 

Marian  did  not  reply.  She  stood  looking  at  the  floor, 
and  twisting  backward  and  forward  in  her  thin  fingers  a 
paper  which  she  was  unconscious  of  holding — it  was  a 
note  written  her  by  George  Cleave  during  their  engage 
ment.  When  Mr.  Ormby,  who  had  spoken  in  a  low  and 
hoarse,  but  determined  voice,  ended  what  he  had  to  say, 
reiterating  his  fixed  will  and  order,  Marian  raised  her 
eyes,  fixed  them  for  a  moment  upon  her  father,  seemed 
to  understand  in  a  dull  sort  of  way  that  the  interview 
was  over,  and  without  speaking  turned  and  went  with 
the  same  slow,  dragging  steps  out  of  the  room. 

As  she  reached  the  hall,  the  sound  of  steps  attracted 
her  attention.  She  slowly  raised  her  eyes.  At  the  front 
door  stood  a  portly  individual  in  an  ample  waistcoat, 
grasping  a  stick,  and  wearing  an  enormous  black  hat. 
This  gentleman  had  been  smiling  benevolently.  At  sight 
of  the  young  lady,  with  her  frightful  pallor  and  her 
attenuated  figure,  all  these  smiles  disappeared,  and  the 


158 


PKETTT  MBS.    GASTOK. 


face  of  Mr.  Brown,  for  it  was  that  gentleman,  grew  cold 
and  stern. 

"  Your  father,  Miss ?  " 

He  uttered  the  words  almost  unconsciously,  and  Ma 
rian  simply  moved  her  thin  hand  in  a  mechanical  man 


ner  toward  the  library.      Then  she  ^dragged  her  slow 
steps  up-stairs,  and  disappeared. 

Mr.   Brown  stood  perfectly  motionless  for  some  mo 
ments  gazing  after  her.     His  expression  was  singular. 


PKETTY  MRS.    G ASTON".  159 

It  was  a  mixture  of  deep  pity,  indignation,  and  stern 
ness.  All  at  once  he  heard  a  step  ;  Mr.  Ormby  came  out 
of  the  library,  and  with  a  stiff  bow  Mr.  Brown  asked  if 
he  had  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Mr.  Ormby. 

"  You  have,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ormby  with  a  temporary  [ 
return  of  his  habitual  hauteur.     "  May  I  ask  the  occasion 
of  your  visit,  sir  ? " 

"  I  wish  to  know  if  you  have  any  timber  upon  this 
estate  which  you  wish  to  sell  standing,  and  if  so,  on  what 
terms  you  will  dispose  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  eyeing  his 
companion  with  a  keen  and  fixed  glance. 

Mr.  Ormby  cleared  his  throat  and  was  about  to  grasp 
at  this  offer,  to  secure  ready  money.  But  a  moment's 
reflection  told  him  that  the  sale  of  the  timber  was  not 
practicable.  It  would  alarm  his  creditor,  and  hasten 
harsh  measures  ;  in  addition  to  which,  the  proceeding 
would  not  be  precisely  honest. 

"I  have  none  for  sale,  sir,"  he  said  stiffly. 

Mr.  Brown  bowed  as  stiffly,  and  said  : 

"  I  will  then  bid  you  good  morning,  sir." 

With  which  words  he  went  out  and  mounted  his  horse. 

(( That  man's  very  look  disgusts  me  !"  he  said.  "To 
come  into  these  sweet  rural  scenes,  as  the  poet  says,  and 
find  such  people  !  "Well,  I  am  a  little  tired  of  my  visit 
to  Virginia.  I  will  bring  my  business  here  to  an  end 
without  loss  of  time.  That  poor  girl  !  and  they  are 
going  to  force  her  into  a  marriage  that  she  hates  !  Well ! 
I  won't  swear  ;  but  they  count  without — John  Brown  •! " 

Having  uttered  these  words  John  Brown  rode  on  and 
disappeared. 


160  PEETTY  MKS.    GASTOIT. 

Marian  did  not  come  down  to  dinner,  and  only  toward 
night  glided  into  her  mother's  room.  The  poor  lady, 
who  was  completely  overawed  by  her  harsh  husband,  had 
been  unable  to  afford  the  girl  any  consolation  or  hope  ; 
and  Marian  did  not  seem  to  expect  any  now.  She  sat 
down  beside  her  mother  on  a  cricket,  leaned  her  head 
upon  the  feeble  knees,  and  drawing  her  mother's  hand 
to  her,  placed  it  on  her  head,  holding  it  there  for  some 
time.  During  this  time  her  lips  moved,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  praying.  At  last  she  rose,  stood  for  an  instant 
gazing  at  her  mother  with  inflamed  eyes,  and  then  put 
ting  her  arms  around  her,  kissed  her  on  her  lips,  her 
cheeks,  and  her  gray  hair,  and  went  slowly  back  to  her 
chamber,  the  door  of  which  she  closed  behind  her. 

On  the  next  morning,  the  young  lady  did  not  come 
down  to  breakfast,  and  Mr.  Ormby  sent  a  maid  to  sum 
mon  her. 

The  maid  came  back  with  a  frightened  face,  and  said 
that  Miss  Marian  was  not  in  her  chamber,  and  her  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in. 

"  Not  slept  in  ! "  cried  the  unhappy  man. 

"No,  sir." 

"Oh!" 

And  with  a  deep  groan  the  miserable  father  let  his 
head  fall  upon  the  table. 

Marian  Ormby  had  indeed  fled  from  her  home — 
whither  no  one  could  divine. 


PRETTY  MES.    G  ASTON.  161 


CHAPTEE    XXVIII. 


ME.    BEOWN    PEONOUNCES    SENTENCE. 

ALLAN  GARTRELL,  Esq.,  after  his  interview  with 
Mr.  Ormby,  had  ridden  toward  The  Lodge  to  pay 
a  visit  to  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees — one  of  the  few  gentlemen 
of  the  neighborhood  who  had  invited  him  to  their  houses. 
Not  finding  Mr.  Daintrees  at  home,  Mr.  Gartrell  ex 
perienced  a  sensation  of  ennui,  and  returning  to  Cleave- 
land,  proceeded  to  indulge  in  the  amusement  of  becom 
ing  tipsy,  through  the  instrumentality  of  champagne — a 
large  supply  of  which  he  had  discovered  in  the  cellars  of 
Mr.  Hamilton  Cleave. 

The  effort  made  by  Mr.  Gartrell  to  dispel  his  weari 
ness  had  eminently  succeeded.  At  the  end  of  his  second 
bottle  he  became  comfortably  careless  of  all  human  ills — 
had  routed  the  fiend  ennui — laughed,  sang,  and  was 
ready  to  quarrel. 

He  had  reached  this  point,  and  was  contemplating  in 
a  muddled  and  hazy  manner  the  propriety  of  ordering  up 
another  bottle,  when  Mr.  Brown,  who  had  ridden  back 
through  Waterford  to  see  Mr.  Jobson  for  a  few  moments, 
made  his  appearance.  The  incident  was  greeted  by  Mr. 
Gartrell  with  great  satisfaction. 


162  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

"Take  some  champagne,  Brown/'  said  Mr.  Gartrell 
in  a  thick  voice ;  "  I  want  a  little  talk  with  you,  my  good 
Mr.  Brown." 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  bestowed  a  penetrating 
glance  upon  Mr.  Gartrell,  smiled  according  to  his  wont, 
and  said : 

"  Champagne  ?  With  pleasure,  my  dear  Gartrell. 
And  conversation  ?  Nothing  could  please  me  better." 

"Brown,"  said  Mr.  Gartrell  scowling,  "you  are  a 
fool." 

This  observation  appearing  even  to  the  muddled  intel 
lect  of  Mr.  Gartrell  liable  to  the  criticism  of  being  some 
what  irrelevant,  he  proceeded  to  explain  it  by  the  further 
statement  that  Mr.  Brown  was  a  "stuck-up  puppy." 

Mr.  Brown  bestowed  upon  the  speaker  a  glance  which 
he  did  not  seem  to  observe — a  curious,  very  curious 
glance. 

"A  puppy,  my  dear  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  ? — and  a  fool 
too  ?  Well,  I  was  never  before  regarded  as  a  fool  pre 
cisely  ;  but  come  !  we  are  talking  in  a  friendly  way — why 
am  I  a  fool?" 

"You  think  you  are  master  here  !" 
"Master?" 

"You  put  on  your  cursed  familiar  airs  !  I  say  familiar! 
And  I  say  I  have  had  enough  of  it,  Brown  ! " 

"You  are  then  desirous  that  my  visit  should  terminate, 
eh,  my  dear  Mr.  Gartrell?" 

"I  am  !"  said  Mr.  Gartrell  scowling. 
"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Brown  benevolently;   "but  it 
is  not  friendly  in  me  to  leave  you,  without  asking  how 


PKETTY   MRS.    G ASTON".  163 

yon  are  getting  on,  my  dear  Gartrell.  Your  matrimonial 
projects,  I  hope,  are  in  good  train.  At  Bay  view,  you 
know — all  right  there,  eh  ?" 

"No,  sir !"  responded  Mr.  Gartrell  with  extreme  hau 
teur,  "  they  are  not  all  right.  They  are  all  wrong.  The 
old  man  is  trying  to  hook  me. " 

"To  hook  you?" 

"I  say  to  hook  me  !  A  miserable  bankrupt !  A  penni 
less  adventurer ! "  said  Mr.  Gartrell. 

Mr.  Brown  serenely  sipped  his  champagne,  smiling. 

"You  are  unfortunate,  my  dear  Gartrell,"  he  said 
sweetly;  "do  you  know  that  I  was  prepared  to  lay  any 
amount  that  you  would  make  a  good  thing  of  that  ?  But 
I  fear  you  are  unlucky.  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  per 
haps  you  are  ignorant  of — that  I  never  back  unlucky 
men.  In  fact,  I  am  like  the  rest  of  the  world ;  I  am  ready 
to  do  my  part  to  ruin  them." 

Muddled  as  was  the-  brain  of  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell,  he 
vaguely  realized  a  hidden  menace  in  these  words.  He 
had  finished  his  third  bottle,  however,  and  had  grown 
pugnacious. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Brown  ?"  he  said. 

"A  mere  jest,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Brown  smil 
ing,  but  watching  his  companion  keenly. 

"  Because  if  you  mean  to  insult  me,  Brown " 

Here  Mr.  Gartrell  grasped  an  empty  bottle  of  cham 
pagne,  and  expressed  his  feelings  further  by  a  volley  of 
the  most  shocking  expressions. 

"Come,  come,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  laugh 
ing,  but  continuing  to  watch  his  companion ;  "  what  is 


164  PEETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

the  use  of  all  this  ?  Are  we  not  the  closest,  dearest 
friends.  Take  care,  my  dear  Mr.  Gartrell — let  me  assist 
you — you  are,  I  fear,  a  little  overcome  by  this  excellent 
beverage.  Ah !  here  is  James.  James,  Mr.  Gartrell  is 
a  little  unwell.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  assist  him 
to  a  sofa  in  the  drawing-room.  These  little  attacks  are 
soon  slept  off." 

And  rising,  with  his  sweetest  smile  upon  his  lips, 
while  the  grinning  James  supported  his  staggering 
master  to  a  sofa,  Mr.  Brown  went  out,  put  on  his  hat, 
and  walking  up  and  down  the  portico,  reflected  deeply. 
At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  stopped,  smiled  slightly,  and 
said : 

"I  am  tired  at  last  of  trifling  with  this  gentleman. 
His  hour  has  come  ! " 


PRETTY   MRS.    G  ASTON.  1C5 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


SKIRMISHING   AT  THE   HOLLIES. 

THAT  nest  of  doves,  The  Hollies,,  on  the  night  of 
this  same  day  was  a  scene  of  fairy  enchantment 
— of  moonlight,  variegated  lanterns,  white  muslin,  jewels, 
rosy  cheeks,  and  sparkling  eyes. 

Pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  was  giving  her  annual  party.  The 
fair  widow  was  an  enormous  favourite  with  the  young 
ladies  of  the  neighborhood.  It  seemed  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  to  them  to  encircle  her  waist  with  their 
arms  whenever  they  were  in  her  presence,  and  for  some 
weeks  before  this  graceful  proceeding  on  the  part  of  the 
blooming  young  maidens  had  been  followed  regularly  by 
the  exclamation,  "Oh!  Mrs.  Gaston  ! — do  give  a  party  ! — 
You  know  you  said  you  would  !" 

Kisses,  bright  glances,  caressing  words,  and  laughter 
succeeded ;  all  attempts  to  extricate  herself  from  the 
fondly  encircling  arms  were  resisted,  for  the  very  school 
girls  tyrannized  over  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  ;  the  victim  could 
only  laugh,  blush,  declare  that  they  were  plagues ;  after 
which  the  evening  for  the  party  was  duly  fixed,  as  the 
teazing  maidens  knew  it  would  be. 

When  Annie  was  informed  of  her  intention  by  Mrs. 


166  PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON". 

Gaston,  the  young  lady  glowed  with  joy,  and,  forgetting 
all  the  dignity  of  eighteen,  proceeded  to  clap  her  hands. 
Then  she  rushed  upon  Mrs.  Gaston,  seized  that  lady  in 
her  arms,  and  having  kissed  her  rapturously  declared  that 
of  all  the  little  aunties  that  anybody  had  ever  possessed 
this  small  auntie  was  the  paragon — the  flower  of  flowers. 

(S  Because  you  are  to  have  a  dance,  you  little  witch  ! " 
said  Mrs.  Gaston  ;  (( did  anybody  ever  see  such  sly,  inter 
ested  creatures  as  you  girls  are  ! " 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Miss  Annie,  "Grandma  is  talking 
so  demurely  !  Girls  ! — I'd  like  to  know  if  there  is  anybody 
younger  than  my  small  auntie,  in  her  feelings — and  her 
face  too  ! " 

"  Go  away,  you  flatterer,  I  am  an  old  woman  and  will 
never  be  able  to  keep  you  young  things  in  order.  But 
what  in  the  world  are  we  to  do  for  music  ?  The  piano 
will  not  do." 

This  obstacle  was  promptly  met.  There  was  an  excel 
lent  fiddle  in  the  neighborhood,  and  if  he  disappointed 
them,  Mr.  Daintrees,  who  was  famous  for  his  skill  as  a 
performer  on  the  violin,  would  play  for  them. 

"  Mr.  -*-Dain trees  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gaston,  coloring  a 
little,  "but  perhaps  it  would  not  be  agreeable  to  Mr. 
Daintrees." 

Annie  looked  at  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston,  who  at  the 
moment  was  carefully  polishing  a  silver  sugar-dish  with 
a  tea-cloth,  after  breakfast ;  and  a  mischievous  smile  was 
seen  upon  the  maiden's  lips — heralding  the  approaching 
shaft. 

"Not  agreeable  to  Mr.  Daintrees  ?"  said  Miss  Annie, 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON.  1G7 

"  I  will  make  sure  of  that  gentleman,  and  warrant  that  it 
will  be  agreeable." 

"You?" 

"With  one  word." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?" 

"I  will  tell  Mr. — that  is  to  say  my  future  Uncle 
Jack " 

"Annie  !" 

"That — my  little  auntie  requests  him  to  play  for  us! 
Oh  !  how  you  are  blushing  ! " 

And  in  the  midst  of  declarations  from  Mrs.  Gaston  that 
she  was  "a  goose,"  and  the  "absurdest  creature,"  Miss 
Annie  made  the  breakfast-room  ring  with  laughter. 

"You  shall  tell  Mr.  Daintrees  nothing  of  the  sort," 
said  the  lady  with  her  little  timid  smile  ;  "and  now  as  we 
have  clone  washing  up  let  us  go  and  make  a  list  of 
persons  to  be  invited." 

It  was  quite  a  pretty  group — the  fair  lady  of  thirty-five 
and  the  maiden  of  eighteen  bending  down,  with  their 
handsome  heads  close  together,  over  the  sheet  upon 
which  name  after  name  was  written.  They  had  nearly 
exhausted  the  neighborhood,  when  Mrs.  Gaston  said  : 

"Just  to  think  !  We  have  forgotten  Dr.  Harrington  !" 

Pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  had  her  revenge,  at  last.  Miss 
Annie  Bell  suddenly  colored. 

"  Pshaw  !"  she  said,  "  of  course  he  will  come." 

"Without  an  invitation?  Fie!  my  dear,  you  must 
have  a  very  bad  opinion  of  Dr.  Harrington's  manners. 
And  now,  as  I  have  alluded  to  the  subject" — Mrs. 
Gaston  paused  an  instant,  assumed  an  innocent  expres- 


168  PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOK. 

sion,  and  glanced  with  a  slight  smile  at  Annie — "  I  think 
I  have  observed  my  dear,  that— you  have  a  positive  anti 
pathy  to  Dr.  Ralph  Harrington  ! " 

The  fair  lady  had  taken  her  revenge.  The  shaft  went 
home,  and  the  laughing  Miss  Annie  Bell  betrayed  un 
mistakable  confusion.  This  was  quickly  succeeded, 
however,  by  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  the  young  lady 
exclaimed  : 

"You  are  right,  Auntie  !  I  can't  bear  your  conceited 
friend  !  He  is  really  overpowering  with  his  lofty  airs — 
and  you  may  invite  him  or  not  just  as  you  please.  I 
assure  you  /don't  care." 

With  a  toss  of  her  head  the  young  lady  added  : 

"If  he  comes  to-day  I  will  tell  him  so." 

Mrs.  Gaston  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  through  the 
window. 

e<  There  he  is,  my  dear,  and  you  will  have  an  excellent 
opportunity. " 

In  fact,  Dr.  Harrington  was  riding  in  on  his  return 
from  a  professional  visit.  Annie  tried  to  break  away 
from  Mrs.  Gaston,  who  mischievously  held  her  fast. 

"Where  are  you  going  ? — then  you  will  not  see  him  ?" 
she  said. 

Miss  Annie  struggled. 

"  Let  me  go,  Auntie  ! " 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  Can  you  ask  ! — going  ?  I  am  going  up-stairs  to  fix 
my  hair,  and  to  change  this  horrid  old  thing  I  have  on  ! " 

The  horrid  old  thing  was  a  morning  wrapper,  and 
having  changed  it,  the  maiden  descended  the  stairs  with 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  169 

a  prim,  and  demure  air,  humming  a  little  song,  un 
consciously  as  it  were,  to  express  polite  surprise  at  the 
presence  of  the  visitor.  Her  polite  air  continued  as  she 
conversed — with  every  door  wide  open — on  the  subject 
of  the  weather,  appealing  repeatedly  to  Mrs.  Gaston, 
and  thus  keeping  that  lady  in  the  room.  When  Dr. 
Ralph  Harrington  suggested  a  walk  in  the  grounds, 
Miss  Bell  declined ;  when  he  made  speeches  indicative  of 
a  desire  to  direct  the  conversation  in  another  channel, 
Miss  Bell  " snubbed"  him ;  and  when  at  last  he  departed, 
his  face  indicated  anything  but  pleasure. 

Miss  Annie  Bell's  proceeding  thereupon  was  singular. 
She  concealed  herself  behind  the  lace  curtain  of  the 
drawing-room,  peeped  at  the  gentleman  as  he  walked 
around  the  circle  and  mounted  his  horse ;  continued  to 
watch  him  with  the  closest  attention  until  he  passed 
through  the  gate ;  and  when  he  disappeared  this  incom 
prehensible  young  lady  burst  into  laughter — after  which 
she  sighed.  She  then  ran  to  the  piano,  and  began  to 
play  a  waltz,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mrs.  Gaston  came  in, 
and  said : 

"Well,  my  dear,  did  you  have  a  pleasant  visit  from 
Dr.  Harrington  ?  I  hope  he  made  himself  agreeable  ? " 

"Agreeable  !"  exclaimed  Annie  turning  round  on  the 
piano  stool;  "he  made  himself  just  as  stupid! — Oh, 
Auntie,  how  stupid  1 " 

"I  hope  you  invited  him  to  the  party  ?" 

"Y — e — s,"  said  Miss  Annie  in  a  hesitating  voice; 
"You  know,  Auntie,  common  politeness  required  me  to 


170  PRETTY  MBS.    G  ASTON. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

A  GENERAL  ENGAGEMENT. 

THE  Hollies  on  the  evening  of  the  party  was,  as  we 
haye  said,  a  scene  of  positive  enchantment.  As 
the  moon  did  not  rise  until  nearly  midnight,  Mrs.  Gaston 
had  procured  a  number  of  variegated  paper  lanterns, 
which  were  suspended  from  the  drooping  boughs  of  the 
cedars,  among  the  burnished  leaves  of  The  Hollies,  and 
even  high  up  amid  the  delicate  leaflets  of  a  willow  be 
neath  which  a  rustic  seat,  conveniently  in  shadow, 
afforded  a  refuge  for  lovers  seeking  privacy  for  their 
romantic  interviews. 

Seen  by  the  mild  and  subdued  light  of  the  variegated 
lanterns,  The  Hollies  was  a  picture.  The  outlines  of 
foliage  were  clear  cut  against  the  stars;  the  white  trellises 
gleamed ;  the  nooks  beneath  the  trees,  where  couples  oc 
cupied  seats,  were  full  of  quiet  laughter ;  the  green  circle 
glimmered;  along  the  veranda  flowed  to  and  fro  a 
stream  of  promenaders,  to  hasten  in  when  the  notes  of 
the  violin  announced  the  "next  set;"  and  all  about  The 
Hollies  laughed  and  sparkled,  catching  as  they  fled  the 
joyous  splendor  of  the  hours. 

The  headlong  violin  rushed  onward  in  a  maze  of  cotil 
lons,  waltzes,  polkas,  and  galops,  until  supper  was  served, 


PRETTY   MKS.    GASTOIf.  171 

when  the  gay  young  people  proceeded  to  the  apartment 
where  Mrs.  G-aston  had  exhausted  her  skill — quite  famous 
in  the  neighborhood — on  her  entertainment ;  and  then, 
this  agreeable  ceremony  being  over,  the  dancing  recom 
menced;  the  honest  old  country  house  was  full  of  a 
mirth  and  laughter  greater  than  before.  And  suddenly 
the  full-orbed  moon  was  rolled  into  the  sky,  like  a  golden 
shield  aboye  the  dreamy  fringes  of  the  trees. 

From  the  house,  the  grounds,  and  the  landscape  let 
us  pass  now  to  a  figure  or  two  and  a  scene  which  took 
place  on  this  evening.  The  grace  and  beauty  of  a  neigh 
borhood  quite  famous  for  such,  had  assembled  at  The 
Hollies  on  this  evening ;  but  it  may  be  fairly  questioned 
whether  any  of  the  little  beauties  were  more  beautiful 
than  Annie — it  might  well  nigh  be  added — than  pretty 
Mrs.  Gaston. 

How  shall  we  describe  the  fair  widow  as  she  appeared 
on  this  evening  ?  She  was  a  rose  in  full  bloom,  with  all 
the  freshness  of  the  morning  dew  upon  it !  She  wore  a 
dress  of  lilac  silk  and  a  little  modest  lace  collar  which 
was  not  whiter  than  her  neck.  In  her  hair  was  a  white 
rose,  and  red  roses  were  in  her  cheeks — for  that  habit  of 
blushing  which  she  indulged  in  the  privacy  of  her  family 
was  all  the  more  observable  now,  when  she  was  called 
upon  to  occupy  the  prominent  position  of  hostess.  It 
was  astonishing  how  popular  that  little  blush  made  Mrs. 
Gaston,  and  pleasant  to  see  how  the  very  little  girls  just 
" coming  out"  nocked  to  her,  and  figuratively  took  her 
under  their  protection  !  They  gathered  about  her  when 
ever  she  appeared — kissed  her  upon  the  least  or  upon  no 


172  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

provocation ;  even  the  young  gentlemen  with  budding 
mustaches  teased  her  to  dance  with  them,  and  she  was 
compelled  to  hasten  away,  as  the  only  means  of  resisting 
their  solicitations. 

It  was  doubtless  with  the  view  of  extricating  pretty 
Mrs.  Gaston  from  these  annoyances  that,  during  a  cotil 
lon  which  drew  into  its  merry  mazes  nearly  all  the  com 
pany,  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  gallantly  arranged  a  light 
scarf  around  the  lady's  shoulders,  issued  forth  with  her 
upon  the  veranda,  and  after  a  few  moments  spent  in 
persuasive  reasoning,  induced  his  fair  companion  to  de 
scend  to  the  sward,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the 
full-orbed  moon. 

And  Annie — what  shall  be  said  of  Annie  ?  Having 
nearly  grown  enthusiastic  in  that  previous  portraiture, 
we  fear  we  shall  become  absurd  if  we  dwell  long  upon 
the  appearance  of  the  little  beauty  of  The  Hollies.  She 
was  like  a  vision  of  youth  and  joy.  Her  pure  oval  face 
was  brushed  by  a  few  curls ;  her  eyes  sparkled  with  su 
preme  enjoyment ;  she  wore  a  white  muslin  dress,  over 
which  fell  a  cloud  of  what  we  believe  is  styled  "illusion," 
looped  up  with  pink  rosebuds  ; — a  little  bouquet  du  cor 
sage — and  from  the  falling  sleeves  of  her  dress  emerged 
two  round  white  arms  on  which  shone  a  pair  of  gold 
bracelets. 

The  cotillon  ended,  and  the  couples  scattered  them 
selves  over  the  lawn — leaving  only  a  few  inveterate 
dancers  to  the  headlong  enjoyment  of  the  galop.  For 
some  time  the  young  ladies  who  had  gone  out  to  the 
lawn  with  their  partners  were  seen  strolling  to  and  fro 


PRETTY   MRS.    GAST02ST.  173 

in  the  moonlight ;  then  the  couples  disappeared  one  by 
one;  then  the  murmur  of  voices,  mingled  with  "fairy 
laughter/'  was  heard  from  the  rustic  seats  beneath  the 
shadows  of  the  trees — and  the  genius  of  flirtation  spread 
his  wings  above  The  Hollies. 

At  the  risk  of  incurring  the  proverbial  fate  of  eaves 
droppers,  let  us  listen  to  what  one  of  these  couples  are 
saying,  on  a  gnarled  and  fantastic  seat  beneath  the  droop 
ing  foliage  of  a  great  ash,  which  rises  from  some  mossy 
rocks  nearly  at  the  extremity  of  the  grounds. 

The  speaker  at  the  moment  is  a  man,  and  his  voice  is 
firm  and  earnest.  Not  a  tremor  interrupts  the  grave, 
strong  accents,  which  are  deep  and  low — his  voice  is  of 
that  sort  which  comes  from  and  speaks  to  the  heart. 

"I  have  told  you  everything,  now,  Annie,  and  you 
know  me  as  well  as  I  know  myself.  I  have  intended  to 
tell  you  this  for  a  long  time,  but  thought — why  should 
I  ?  It  is  only  to  the  woman  a  man  loves  that  he  can  say 
such  things — and — and — why  use  any  ceremony  now  ? 
You  know  how  dearly — how  deeply — I  love  you.7' 

An  inarticulate  murmur,  so  faint  that  it  might  have 
been  taken  for  the  whisper  of  the  summer  wind  in  the 
ash  overhead,  came  from  the  listener — a  young  girl  with 
her  head  drooping,  and  her  white  hands  opening  and 
closing  a  little  variegated  fan  upon  which  her  eyes  were 
fixed. 

"Every  man's  life  comes  to  this  at  last,"  the  speaker 
went  on  in  a  voice  growing  deeper  and  more  earnest  as 
he  spoke.  ' '  He  may  laugh,  jest,  make  his  satirical  com 
ments  on  women,  and  amuse  himself  at  their  expense. 


174  PRETTY  MBS.    GASTOK. 

Then,  some  day,  he  finds  that  he  loves  some  one  with 
his  whole  heart  and  soul ;  and  forgets  his  laughter,  and 
— if  he  loyes  her  as  he  should — speaks  to  her  as  I  have 
spoken  to  you  ! " 

The  earnest  voice  seemed  to  draw,  against  her  own  will 
as  it  were,  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  to  her  companion's 
face.  She  raised  her  eyes,  and  for  a  single  instant  they 
were  fixed  upon  his  own — her  cheeks  full  of  blushes,  her 
bosom  heaving — then  they  fell  again. 

"I  have  concealed  nothing,"  he  went  on.  "I  have 
told  you  my  life — that  I  am  only  a  poor  gentleman,  but 
at  least  a  gentleman,  and  I  hope  a  Christian.  I  claim  no 
merit  for  that — to  be  indifferent,  even,  in  such  things 
has  been  from  my  very  childhood  monstrous  in  my  eyes. 
To  live  in  this  beautiful  world,  surrounded  by  so  many 
marvels — to  have  the  love  of  a  mother — of  friends — to 
see  the  moon  rise,  and  the  grass  and  flowers  grow,  and 
live  through  all  like  a  dumb  animal — that  at  least  I 
could  not  do  !  and  in  my  hard  life — it  has  been  a  hard 
one  sometimes — I  can  say,  and  I  would  say.it  to  you  only, 
that  I  have  never  forgotten  the  prayers  I  learned  with 
my  head  on  my  mother's  knees." 

He  stopped  for  a  single  instant  and  then  went  on  : 

<f  I  have  said  enough  of  this — far  more  than  I  intended 
to  say.  But  I  am  loyal — I  say  that  proudly.  I  dare  not 
conceal  anything,  and  have  opened  my  whole  heart  to 
you.  The  rest  you  know.  You  know  how  we  met  first 
— how  I  tried  and  succeeded  in  making  George  offer  you 
his  hand — how  I  found  then  that  I  loved  you,  and  you 
need  not  be  told  that  the  result  was  utter  misery  to  me. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOJT.  175 

I  resolved  not  to  come  near  you,  and  the  most  wretched 
hour  of  my  life  was  that  visit  to  you  when  you  were 
unwell,  and  I  was  called  upon  to  take  in  my  own  the 
hand — that  belonged  to  George  Cleave.  The  rest  fol 
lowed — your  engagement  ended — I  had  the  right  to  love 
you  then — I  had  not  the  right  before,  and  I  loved  you,  I 
love  you,  Annie,  with  all  the  strength  of  my  being  I  I 
am  not  a  boy — I  am  a  man,  and  a  hard  one,  in  some 
things.  I  will  conceal  nothing  from  you — refuse  me  and 
I  will  not  go  and  drown  my  misery  in  drink,  or  coarse 
company,  or  give  up  my  career.  I  will  work,  and  work 
harder  than  I  ever  did.  I  defy  misery  to  crush  me — it 
can  not  crush  Ealph  Harrington  ! " 

The  head  of  the  speaker  rose  with  something  proud 
and  resolute  in  the  very  poise  of  it.  A  moment  after 
wards  it  dropped. 

"I  am  talking  absurdly,"  he  murmured ;  "it  is  because 
my  thoughts  rise  to  my  lips,  and  I  mean  to  show  you  my 
very  heart !  I  am  blundering  on  all  about  what  I  will  do 
if  you  refuse  me — but  do  not  refuse  me,  Annie  !  I  was 
only  boasting,  perhaps — I  think  I  should  die  without 

you!" 

Two  hands  which  were  near  each  other  seemed  to 
approach,  unconsciously,  and  were  clasped  together.  A 
little  head  with  brown  ringlets  rose  slowly,  and  a  pair  of 
moist  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  long,  earnest,  trusting  gaze 
upon  his  own. 

The  lips  of  the  beautiful  girl  uttered  not  the  slightest 
sound  ;  but  in  that  long,  earnest  look  was  written  with 
out  room  for  doubt — "surrender." 


176 


PEETTY   MES.    GASTOtf. 


Suddenly  the  headlong  violin  within  The  Hollies 
struck  up  a  reel — the  merriest  of  all  the  reels  since  time 
began — and  the  whole  moonlit  lawn  was  quickly  alive 
with  figures  hastening  in  to  take  their  places.  The  pry 
ing  moon  had  witnessed  a  number  of  romantic  scenes — 
what  it  lingered  upon  now,  the  last  of  all,  was  the  spec- 


THE  PRYING  MOON— WHAT  IT  LINGERED  UPON  NOW. 

tacle  of  a  girl  clasped  in  her  lover's  arms,  her  lips  pressed 
to  his  own  in  a  long,  lingering  kiss. 

"  Only  another  moment,  Annie  I" 

"  I  must  go  now — Ealph  ! " 

And  Miss  Annie  Bell,  with  cheeks  the  color  of  the  red 
rose  at  her  corsage,  flitted  away,  her  little  satin  slippers 
gleaming  in  the  moonlight. 


PBETTY   MES.    G ASTON".  177 

t{  Mrs.  Gaston  !  where  is  Mrs.  Gaston  ! "  cried  a  youth 
ful  gentleman,  rushing  forth  from  the  veranda.  "  She's 
engaged  to  dance  the  reel  with  me  !  Oh — h — h — h  ! 
Mrs.  Gaston!" 

What  spectacle  was  it  that  then  greeted  the  bright 
eyes  of  youths  and  maidens  whose  attention  had  been 
attracted  by  the  youthful  gentleman's  outcries  ?  We 
said  that  the  moon  had  seen  the  last  of  the  romantic 
couples,  but  were  quite  mistaken.  From  a  clump  of 
shrubs,  beyond  which  stood  a  rustic  chair  under  a  holly, 
suddenly  appeared — the  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  and  Mr.  Jack 
Daintrees  !  The  former  was  blushing  as  she  had  perhaps 
never  blushed  before ;  the  latter  walked  with  his  head 
erect  and  triumphant.  In  fact  we  can  only  describe  the 
demeanor  of  Mr.  Daintrees  by  saying  that  he  resembled  a 
warrior  returning  from  a  successful  campaign,  in  front 
of  whom  the  bands  are  playing,  "  See  the  conquering 
hero  comes  ! " 

How  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  got  through  the  reel  that 
night  was  a  mystery  to  herself,  and  she  never  remem 
bered  anything  about  it  afterwards.  Fortunately  her 
habit  of  blushing  served  to  explain  the  permanent  roses 
in  her  cheeks,  or  the  rapid  motion  was  credited  with  the 
phenomenon.  Certain  it  is  that  everybody  admired  Mrs. 
Gaston  and  Annie,  as  they  went  together  from  end  to 
end  of  the  reel ;  and  the  hearts  of  Jack  Daintrees  and 
Ealph  Harrington  beat  time  to  the  music. 

For  the  "skirmishing  at  The  Hollies"  had  been  suc 
ceeded  by  "a  general  engagement  "—and  an  uncondi 
tional  surrender. 


178  PEETTY  MES.    GASTOK. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 


THE    CYPEESS    LEAE — AKD    THE    SUKSHLtfE. 


IT  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  the  revellers 
had  begun  to  disperse. 

On  the  high  road  near  The  Hollies  the  moon  was 
pouring  its  solemn  splendor. 

No  sound  was  heard  but  the  low  sigh  of  the  night 
wind  in  some  shrubbery  skirting  the  road ;  but  all  at 
once  a  human  sigh  was  mingled  with  the  inarticulate 
murmur  of  the  foliage  ;  and  this  low,  piteous  sigh  issued 
from  the  lips  of  a  crouching  figure,  lost  like  a  shadow  in 
the  shadow  of  the  shrubs,  and  shrinking  lower  as  the 
guests  went  by  in  carriages  or  on  horseback  toward  their 
homes. 

The  shadow  in  the  shadow  scarcely  moved.  It  was 
crouching,  shrinking,  shuddering,  and  seemed  about  to 
faint  and  fall. 

It  had  glided  out  of  Bayview,  and  an  hour  past  mid 
night,  scarcely  knowing  in  what  direction  it  went ; 
tottered  with  weak  steps  across  fields  and  through 
forest  paths,  with  the  vague  thought  of  going  some- 


PKETTY  MRS.    GASTO^.  179 

where — anywhere ;  and  going  on  and  on,  with  the  same 
faint,  feeble,  tottering  steps,  had  sunk  down  weak  and 
powerless  at  the  very  gateway  almost  of  The  Hollies. 

An  hour  afterwards  Marian  Ormby  was  in  bed  at  The 
Hollies,  with  Mrs.  Gaston  and  Annie  seated  by  her, 
holding  her  poor  hands  and  weeping. 

Ealph  Harrington  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
looking  gravely  at  her.  It  was  he  who  had  discovered 
the  poor  girl  as  he  passed,  the  last  guest  of  all,  on  his 
way  back  to  Waterford.  Hearing  a  low  sob  in  the 
shrubbery  beside  the  road,  he  had  dismounted,  gone  to 
the  spot,  found  Marian  stretched  nearly  lifeless  on  the 
ground,  and  had  hurriedly  questioned  her,  demanding  an 
explanation  of  her  presence  there.  In  a  faint  and 
broken  voice  she  had  tried  to  give  him  this  explanation. 
She  was  going — she  meant  to  go — her  aunt  lived  only  a 
few  miles — then  the  poor  girl  burst  into  tears  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

Ealph  Harrington  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding 
the  whole  mystery.  Marian  had  left  her  father's  home  to 
take  refuge  at  her  aunt's — had  sunk  down  on  the  way ; 
a  hot  fever  had  seized  upon  her,  he  saw,  and  with  gentle 
force  he  bore  her  into  The  Hollies,  just  as  Annie  and  Mrs. 
Gaston  were  extinguishing  the  lights. 

It  was  the  cypress  leaf  that  mingles  fatally  with  the 
orange  flowers  of  life. 

At  daylight  a  note  was  dispatched  to  Mr.  Ormby  ;  and 
this  note  reached  him  an  hour  after  his  discovery  of  his 
daughter's  flight.  Mounting  his  horse  he  rode  at  full 
speed  to  The  Hollies ;  and,  without  waiting  to  be  an- 


180  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOH. 

nounced,  abandoning  all  ceremony,  driven  by  the  one 
passionate  thought  that  his  child  was  there,  the  un 
happy  father,  with  his  pride  all  broken  in  his  breast, 
hastened  up  the  staircase,  opened  the  door,  beyond  which 
he  heard  voices,  and  an  instant  afterwards  was  holding 
Marian  in  his  arms,  kissing  and  fondling  her  with  sobs 
and  tears,  and  promises  to  love  and  cherish  her  always  if 
she  would  only  live  and  love  him.  So  mighty  is  the 
father's  heart  under  all  the  sordid  trappings  of  a  worldly 
philosophy  ! 

Mrs.  Gaston  had  truly  informed  Mr.  Ormby  in  her 
note  that  Marian  had  a  very  dangerous  attack  of  fever ; 
and  as  the  day  wore  on  the  fever  gathered  strength. 
"When  night  came  the  poor  girl  was  delirious,  and  talked 
incessantly  of  George  Cleave,  of  her  father,  and  of  some 
one  whose  name  she  did  not  pronounce — from  actual  dis 
gust  it  seemed — who  could  have  been  none  other  than 
Mr.  Gartrell.  Then  her  mind  wandered  to  her  night 
walk — to  the  scene  on  the  highway — and  so  the  sick  girl 
muttered  on  and  on,  watched  by  her  friends,  but  more 
than  all  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ormby,  whose  very  hearts 
seemed  breaking. 

Harrington  had  ridden  to  Waterford  in  the  forenoon 
and  returned  to  The  Hollies  with  Dr.  Williams  and — 
George. 

The  young  man  was  quite  pale  and  still.  He  sat  on 
the  veranda,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  lawn,  the  scene  so 
short  a  time  before  of  mirth  and  laughter  ;  and  this  gaze 
was  so  immovable  and  apathetic  that  it  was  plain  the 
youth  was  nearly  stunned.  From  time  to  time,  as 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  181 

Harrington  descended  to  mix  some  medicine,  he  turned 
his  head  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  friend's  face. 

"A.  fever,  George — from  exposure  and  agitation.  Bad, 
to  be  frank  with  you — but  not  serious — yet." 

Harrington  would  then  go  up-stairs  again ;  and  so  i 
the  day,  then  the  night,  then  the  next  day,  and  the  next 
night  passed,  George  Cleave  remaining  almost  all  his 
waking  hours  upon  the  veranda  listening.  He  had 
taken  up  his  abode  at  The  Hollies,  by  Mrs.  Gaston's  re 
quest.  He  waited  for  the  decision  which  he  felt  would  be 
life  or  death  to  his  heart. 

This  decision  came  on  the  night  of  the  third  day. 
Marian  fell  asleep  at  dusk ;  and  Harrington  sat  watching 
her  with  a  fixed,  immovable  gaze  which  indicated  plainly 
his  profound  anxiety.  An  hour  passed,  then  another; 
there  was  still  no  change,  and  the  young  physician  grew 
more  and  more  anxious,  his  gaze  more  fixed  and  intense. 
At  last  he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  An  almost  im 
perceptible  alteration  had  taken  place  in  the  appearance 
of  the  sleeper.  The  hot  blood  in  her  cheeks  seemed 
slowly  to  retire ;  her  pulse,  when  he  lightly  laid  his  finger 
upon  it,  throbbed  less  violently,  and  toward  midnight  a 
slight,  pearly  moisture  diffused  itself  over  the  white  fore 
head. 

The  crisis  of  the  fever  was  passed.  Harrington  an 
nounced  the  fact  to  her  father,  who  had  scarcely  left  her 
day  or  night. 

"All  depends  now  upon  moral  influences,"  added  Har 
rington.  "I  have  informed  you,  Mr.  Ormby,  that  the 
real  origin  of  this  attack  was  obviously  mental  distress. 


182  PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

If  you  are  aware  of  the  cause  of  that  distress,  I  advise 
you  to  remove  it." 

Mr.  Ormby  moved  his  head  slowly  up  and  down.  As 
he  did  so,  Marian  opened  her  eyes,  and  when  her  father 
came  to  her,  she  placed  her  arms  around  his  neck,  smiled 
faintly,  and  kissed  him. 

He  laid  the  thin  cheek  against  his  own,  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  he  whispered  : 

"  Shall  I  go  and  tell — George — that  your  father  and 
mother  consent  to — your  marriage  with  him  ?  " 

The  sunshine  in  the  poor  girl's  eyes  rendered  any  reply 
unnecessary. 

"I  will  go  tell  him  now — this  very  moment.  I  am 
not  so  bad  a  father  as  you  think,  my  dear,  my  own 
Marian!" 

And  ten  minutes  afterwards  George  Cleave  knew  two 
things — that  Marian  would  recover,  and  that  she  would 
be  his  wife. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  183 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


MR.    BROWN"    DEPARTS. 


WHEN  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  woke  after  the  slight 
attack  of  drowsiness  consequent  upon  drinking 
that  moderate  supply  of  champagne — only  three  bottles — 
which  we  have  alluded  to,  he  stretched  himself,  yawned, 
experienced  a  slight  headache,  and  what  was  equally  dis 
agreeable,  a  vague,  uneasy  consciousness  that  he  had 
done  something  excessively  imprudent. 

What  was  this  imprudence  ?  Oh  yes  !  —  and  Mr.  Gar 
trell  turned  a  little  pale.  He  had  insulted  his  friend 
Mr.  Brown;  insulted  him;  had  characterized  him  as 
a  "  puppy,"  and,  unless  his  memory  was  treacherous,  had 
hurled,  or  been  about  to  hurl  a  bottle  at  his  head  ! 

The  remembrance  of  this  scene  caused  a  slight  per 
spiration  to  gather  upon  Mr.  Gartrell's  forehead.  It  was 
plain  that  he  had  offered  a  gross  indignity  to  his  dear 
friend,  and  having  swallowed  nearly  half  a  tumbler  of 
brandy  to  fortify  his  shattered  nerves,  Mr.  Gartrell  rang 
the  bell,  to  send  for  Mr.  Brown  and  apologize. 


184  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Brown  I  will  be  glad  to  see  him  for  a  few 
moments,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  "and  mind,  you 
rascal !  be  polite  !  Mr.  Brown  is  one  of  my  best  friends  !" 

The  servant  did  not  go,  whereupon  Mr.  Gartrell  burst 
into  vituperative  epithets  demanding  why  he  stood  there 
like  a  calf. 

"Mr.  Brown  is  gone  away,  sir.  He  left  a  letter  on 
the  mantel-piece." 

"Gone  away!" 

"He  had  the  light  carriage  hitched  up,  and  Joe  drove 
him  to  Waterford,  sir.  Afterwards,  in  the  evening,  Joe 
drove  him,  he  says,  to  the  railroad,  and  he  went  away  on 
the  cars." 

Mr.  Gartrell  seized  the  letter,  forgetting  in  his  agita 
tion  to  utter  a  single  oath.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

"AMIABLE  MR.  ALLAJT  GARTRELL:  Your  unappreci 
ated  friend,  Mr.  John  Brown,  presents  his  compliments, 
and  begs  to  state,  that  not  finding  a  longer  stay  at  your 
hospitable  mansion  agreeable  to  his  feelings,  he  has  re 
luctantly  concluded  to  tear  himself  away. 

"  You  will  readily  conceive  that  under  the  peculiar  cir 
cumstances,  he,  your  friend  Brown,  would  not  have  come 
to  this  determination  without  good  reasons.  But  insults 
have  been  uttered,  taunts  employed,  intimations  made, 
that  a  further  sojourn  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Brown  at  the 
residence  of  Mr.  Gartrell  would  be  unwelcome  to  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  establishment. 

"So  for  the  present  Mr.  Brown  defers  the  further 
prosecution  of  the  business  which  brought  him  to  this 


PBETTY  MRS.    GASTON.  185 

country — the  purchase,  that  is  to  say,  of  lumber  for  sale 
in  the  New  York  market.  Whether  Mr.  Brown  will  be 
able  so  far  to  command  his  feelings  as  to  forget  the 
unpleasant  scene  above  obscurely  alluded  to,  and  return 
to  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Gartrell,  the  future  will  determine. 
"At  present,  with  a  heart  deeply  wounded,  feelings 
lacerated,  and  a  melancholy  which  causes  his  tears  to 
flow,  he  presents  his  respects  to  Mr.  Gartrell,  and  sub 
scribes  himself  Mr.  Gartrell's 

"  Most  obedient  humble  servant, 

"  JOHN  BROWN." 

Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  perused  this  note  with  an  expression 
of  unmistakable  terror.  Having  read  it  slowly  through 
once,  he  went  back  and  read  it  through  again  ;  studying 
it,  as  it  were,  sentence  by  sentence  and  word  by  word. 

If  an  opinion  could  be  formed  from  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  GartrelFs  countenance,  his  effort  to  discover  what  ho 
sought  was  unsuccessful.  He  sat  there  for  a  long  time, 
gazing  stupidly  at  the  paper,  knitting  his  brows,  and 
looking  extremely  gloomy. 

At  last  he  started  up,  and  uttered  a  violent  oath. 

"Curse  him!  let  him  go  !"  he  growled.  "Let  him 
try !  I  defy  him  to " 

He  stopped,  muttering.  Then  he  went  and  poured 
out  some  more  brandy. 

"  What  a  devil  of  a  man  that  Brown  is  ! "  he  said  with 
a  reckless  laugh ;  <f  and  decidedly  I  think  I  will  miss 
the  old  muff!" 


186  PKETTY  MBS.    GASTOK. 

On  the  morning  after  this  scene,  as  Mr.  Gartrell  was 
drinking  brandy  as  usual,  a  step  was  heard  upon  the 
portico,  a  knock  resounded,  and  a  moment  afterwards 
the  attentive  James  announced  Mr.  Jobson,  who  came 
into  the  apartment. 

At  sight  of  the  lawyer  Mr.  Gartrell  assumed  a  stiff 
and  formal  air. 

"  You  wish  to  see  me — Mr.  Jobson,  from  Waterford,  I 
think?" 
"Yes,  sir." 
"  Your  business,  sir  ?" 

Mr.  Jobson  had  not  been  invited  to  sit  down,  but  he 
now  proceeded  to  do  so,  looking  at  Mr.  Gartrell  over  his 
spectacles. 

"I  called  to  see  you  once  before,  sir,"  he  said  quietly, 
"but  did  not  find  you  at  home.  My  business  is  to  have 
a  few  words  on  the  subject  of  the  codicil  to  the  late  Mr. 
Cleave's  will,  which  I  beg  to  inform  you,  before  going 
further,  was  not  worth  the  paper  it  was  written  on,  as  it 
was  not  witnessed." 

Thereupon  Mr.  Jobson  proceeded,  with  great  coolness, 
to  business  ;  spoke  of  the  extreme  hardship  of  not  releas 
ing  to  George  Cleave,  after  his  magnanimous  surrender 
of  the  estate,  any  portion  of  it ;  and  ended  by  urging 
upon  Mr.  Gartrell,  as  a  course  dictated  by  common  pro 
priety,  some  provision  for  his  cousin.. 

Mr.  Jobson  had  visited  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  at  an  unfor 
tunate  moment — which  does  not,  however,  involve  the 
statement  that  under  any  circumstances  his  course  would 
have  been  other  than  that  which  he  now  pursued. 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  187 


•g; 


"  Curse  my  cousin  ! "  said  Mr.  Gartrell,  scowlin 
"what  the  devil  have  I  to  do  with  him  ?  My  uncle  left 
me  this  property  if  that  marriage  did  not  take  place — 
with  Miss  Bell ;  well,  has  he  married  her  ?  " 

"You  know  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Gartrell " 

"Curse  the  circumstances!"  interrupted  Mr.  Allan 
Gartrell,  becoming  angry  5  "  are  you  sent  here  by  Cleave 
to  do  his  begging  ?  " 

"I  am  not,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jobson  with  unalterable 
sang  froid,  bestowing  a  curious  glance  upon  the  speaker 
over  his  spectacles.  There  was  something  so  singular  in 
this  look  that  even  Mr.  Gartrell  noticed  it.  It  might 
almost  have  been  said  that  Mr.  Jobson  was  doing  what 
he  never  did — smiling. 

"What  brought  you,  then,  old  parchment-face  ?"  said 
Mr.  Gartrell  with  a  sudden  access  of  humor,  due  to  the 
brandy;  "any  money  in  the  affair,  do  you  think — eh  ?" 

"  I  expect  none,  sir." 

"Come  !  speak  out,  old  black-gown  !  Say  half;  will 
that  do?" 

Mr.  Gartrell  burst  into  sudden  laughter,  adding  : 

"Well,  I  see  we  can't  come  to  an  understanding. 
Have  some  brandy,  Jobson  ?  " 

Mr.  Jobson  politely  declined  and  rose. 

"Mr.  Gartrell,"  he  said  quietly,  with  the  former  ghost 
of  a  smile  upon  his  thin  lips,  "  I  do  not  often  throw  away 
my  time,  but  I  have  deliberately  done  so  to-day,  I  see. 
I  will  not  further  trouble  you  on  this  business  this  morn 
ing.  Is  Mr.  Brown  here  ?  A  most  worthy  gentleman — 
your  friend  Mr.  Brown  ! " 


188  PEETTY   MKS.    GASTCW. 

And  with  the  air  of  a  personage  who  has  perpetrated 
an  excellent  jest,  Mr.  Jobson  put  on  his  hat  and  took  his 
departure.  For  some  moments  Mr.  Gartrell  looked  after 
him  in  silence.  Then  he  muttered  with  an  uneasy  air  : 

"Brown?  Does  he  know  Brown?  Is  there  some 
thing  under  all  this  ?  That  old  wooden-head  was  laugh 
ing  at  something  !  What  was  it  ?  " 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTO^.  189 


CHAPTEE    XXXIII. 

WHICH  TREATS   OF  THE   MYSTERIOUS  MOVEMENTS   OF  MR. 
JOBSON. 

ALL  the  way  back  to  Waterford  Mr.  Jobson  con 
tinued  to  indulge  in  that  covert  smile,  and  once 
or  twice  a  low  sound  escaped  from  his  lips  which  actually 
resembled  a  chuckle. 

Having  reached  the  town  he  rode  up  the  main  street 
with  the  air  of  a  gentleman  at  peace  with  himself  and  all 
the  world ;  stopped  in  front  of  his  office ;  dismounted, 
hitched  his  horse  to  an  old  rack,  much  gnawed  by  the 
horses  of  clients  ;  and  going  into  the  office  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  George  Cleave,  who  held  a  law-book 
before  him  and  was — thinking  of  Marian. 

"Well,  my  young  friend,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  "a  fine 
day,  and  you  seem  to  be  deep  in  the  law.  That's  well — 
a  hard  mistress,  and  requires,  says  a  great  man,  the 
lucubrationes  viginti  annorum." 

tl  Which  will  bring  me  to  forty-five — nearly  as  old  as 
you  are,  Mr.  Jobson  !" 

The  young  man's  face  was  radiant ;  his  voice  like 
music.  A  few  moments  on  the  veranda  at  The  Hollies 
had  caused  that. 


190  PKETTY  MRS.    G ASTON. 

"  As  old  as  I  am  !  I  am  sixty — every  day  of  it !  I  am 
an  old .  law  parchment — did  not  my  dear  friend,  Mr. 
Gartrell,  say  as  much  ? — and  you,  you  are  a  nosegay  with 
the  dew  on  it!" 

Having  indulged  in  this  unwonted  outburst  of  poetry, 
Mr.  Jobson  came  up  to  George  Cleave,  sat  down  beside 
him,  drew  his  chair  close,  leaned  over,  and  looking  at  the 
young  man  over  his  spectacles,  said  in  a  low  tone  : 

"Are  you  discreet?  Can  you  keep  a  little  secret? — 
for  twenty-four  hours  ?  " 

il  A  secret,  Mr.  Jobson  !    I  think  I  can." 

"Listen  then!" 

And  in  a  whisper  Mr.  Jobson  made  a  hurried  commu 
nication  at  which  Cleave  visibly  started.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  Mr.  Jobson  with  the  prof  oundest  surprise ; 
the  law-book  escaped  from  his  grasp,  and  he  did  not  pick 
it  up ;  and,  with  this  air  of  stupefaction  almost,  he  re 
mained  silent,  listening  to  the  end. 

"  Good  heavens —  !"  he  exclaimed,  at  last. 

(e  That's  enough!"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  suddenly  rising. 
"Keep  quiet,  and  remember — to-morrow  at  noon  !" 

"Yes,  yes!" 

Thereupon  Mr.  Jobson  went  out  of  his  office,  walked 
down  the  street,  and,  reaching  the  office  of  Dr.  Ealph 
Harrington,  opened  the  door  without  ceremony  and 
went  in. 

Harrington  had  just  come  back  from  The  Hollies,  and 
never  was  the  fulness  of  joy  more  plainly  written  on  the 
human  face.  This  human  being  seemed  to  have  had 
some  elixir  of  life  suddenly  infused  into  his  frame.  His 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  191 

pale  cheeks  had  grown  ruddy ;  his  dull  eyes  as  brilliant 
as  light  itself ;  and  the  lips  which  so  recently  had  ex 
pressed  only  disgust  and  weariness  with  all  around  him, 
seemed  never  done  with  smiling.  Ralph  Harrington 
was,  indeed,  the  picture  of  abounding  joy — a  joy  which 
had  come  to  him  like  a  burst  of  sunshine,  on  that  moon 
light  night  at  The  Hollies. 

"Well,  Doctor!" 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  my  dear  friend  !  Delighted  to  see 
you.  What  news  ?  " 

( '  The  news  that  miracles  haye  not  ceased — that  a  man 
as  thin  as  a  shadow  and  as  white  as  a  ghost  can  be  made 
a  stout  fellow  with  the  reddest  cheeks  I  ever  saw,  in  a 
week!" 

Harrington  laughed  like  a  boy. 

"  Well,  such  miracles  take  place  sometimes  ! " 

"I  see  one  I" 

"I  feel  one!" 

"  So  you  and  George  Cleave  are  going  to  marry  your 
sweethearts — the  right  ones — after  all,  eh  ?" 

"I  hope  so  !  what  would  you  have,  my  dear  Mr.  Job- 
son  ?  It  is  a  man's  fate  to  be  entrapped — to  be  induced 
reluctantly  to  perpetrate  matrimony  at  some  period, 
sooner  or  later,  in  his  mortal  existence  !  A  hard  fate, 
my  dear  friend — but  how  are  we  to  avoid  it  ?  Struggle 
as  you  will — make  all  the  good  resolutions  imaginable — 
resolve  that  you  will  not  desert  the  noble  army  of 
bachelors — and  some  day  you  find  that  your  fate  is  sealed 
— that  you  are  tied  tightly  to  the  apron  string  of  some 
little  Blue  Eyes!" 


192  PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOtf. 

"Annie's  eyes  are  not  blue/'  said  Mr.  Jobson,  putting 
in  his  protest. 

Thereat  Kalph  Harrington  burst  into  laughter  once 
more,  and  actually  colored  a  little. 

"You  are  a  terrible  personage/'  he  said,  "and  I  see 
that  nobody  can  mislead  you.  Well,  yes,  yes  !  my  dear 
Mr.  Jobson,  let  me  cease  my  jests  and  say  that  I  am  as 
happy  as  a  child  this  morning.  I  have  had  trouble 
enough  in  the  last  few  months  to  break  down  the 
strongest,  but  Heaven  be  thanked  it  is  over — yes,  my 
dear  sir,  I  shall  be  married,  I  hope,  to  a  person  you 
know  in  a  month  ! " 

•  "  Good — very  good  !"  said  Mr.  Jobson.  "A  fortunate 
thing  for  both ;  and  if  I  am  not  very  much  mistaken, 
the  noble  army  of  bachelors  will  miss  three  of  its  recruits 
instead  of  two — the  third  being  Mr.  J.  Daintrees." 

"  Yes — it  is  as  good  as  announced.  An  excellent  fel 
low — Daintrees. " 

"  As  honest  a  man  as  I  know,  and  has  a  good  estate,  as 
you  have  a  good  professional  income,  which  is  equivalent. 
Now  for  George  Cleave.  He  is  the  only  poor  bridegroom. 
Let  us  come  to  George  Cleave,  and  let  me  tell  you  what 
I  have  just  told  him." 

Mr.  Jobson  then  proceeded  to  make  a  communication 
to  Dr.  Kalph  Harrington,  which  caused  that  gentleman 
to  stop  suddenly  as  he  was  lighting  a  cigar,  and  gaze  at 
the  speaker  with  astounded  eyes. 

"  You  are  surely  not  in  earnest ! " 

"  I  was  never  more  in  earnest  in  my  life." 

"  And — to-morrow  ?" 


PRETTY    MRS.    GASTOtf.  193 

"At  noon.     Don't  fail." 

And  Mr.  Jobson  went  out  of  the  office  without  further 
words.  He  stopped  then  for  a  moment  and  looked 
around  in  a  hesitating  manner. 

(<  Yes — it  is  best  I  suppose/'  he  muttered. 

He  then  walked  down  the  street,  stopped  in  front  of 
the  county  jail,  the  iron-studded  door  revolved  at  his 
knock,  and  he  disappeared  within.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterwards  he  came  out,  went  to  his  own  residence — 
a  comfortable  house  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town — and 
entering,  ascended  the  stairs.  As  he  reached  the  second 
floor,  Mrs.  Jobson,  a  buxom  dame  in  a  cap,  came  out  of 
her  chamber,  and  exclaimed  : 

"Oh!  Mr.  Jobson!" 

' '  Well,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Jobson,  looking  at  the  lady 
over  his  large  spectacles.  . 

"Oh!  Mr.  Jobson!"  repeated  the  lady,  breathing 
quickly  in  an  extremely  agitated  manner. 

1 '  That  is  not  an  observation  from  which  it  is  possible 
to  derive  any  precise  information,"  said  Mr.  Jobson  with 
unwonted  humor. 

"  Oh  !  there's  somebody  in  the  green-room  !  There  is 
no  doubt  of  it,  Mr.  Jobson  !  We  heard  him  walking 
about!" 

"Him  ?  why  not  her?"  said  Mr.  Jobson. 

"The  steps  were  too  heavy  !  and  the  door  is  locked, 
for  Molly  tried  it !  and — and — you  seem  to  think  noth 
ing  of  my  agitation,  Mr.  Jobson  !  you  don't  believe  me  ! 
and  yet  I  heard! — Mr.  Jobson,  there's  somebody  in  that 
room  ! " 


194  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOIiT. 

"Nonsense,  Mrs.  Jobson,"  was  the  cool  reply.  "I 
have  always  told  you  that  your  nerves  would  be  the  death 
of  you.  You  fill  me  with  anxiety,  Mrs.  Jobson  !  Your 
pale  and  wasted  appearance  leaves  no  doubt  of  the  state 
of  your  nervous  system.  You  require  a  doctor,  Mrs. 
Jobson!" 

Which  was  the  crowning  joke  of  Mr.  Jobson  on  this 
day  of  unwonted  jocosity — for  the  good  lady  was  as 
plump  and  ruddy  as  he  was  wiry  and  parchment-like  in 
countenance. 

" There,"  he  suddenly  said,  "I  see  your  friend  Mrs. 
Jones  is  coming  up  the  steps,  madam,  to  make  you  a 
visit." 

"  Mrs.  Jones  !  I  must  change  my  dress  !  she  is  so 
particular,  and  notices  everything  ! " 

The  lady  hastened  into  her  chamber,  and  closed  the 
door.  Then  it  suddenly  opened  again,  and  she  ex 
claimed  : 

"There's  somebody  in  that  room,  Mr.  Jobson!  I 
heard  them  with  my  own  ears  ! " 

Then  the  chamber  door  closed — this  time  finally. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Jobson  was  satisfied  that  the  enemy 
had  retreated  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  mysterious 
apartment,  gave  a  peculiar  knock,  said,  "It  is  I  !"  and 
the  door  opened,  closed  upon  him,  and  was  locked  again. 

The  consequence  was  that  when  Mrs.  Jobson  came 
forth  in  full  toilet,  prepared  for  further  allusions  to  the 
noise  in  the  green-room,  Mr.  Jobson  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 


PRETTY  MBS.    G ASTON".  195 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


WAITING. 

AT  about  half-past  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  on  the 
day  after  these  scenes,  Mrs.  G-aston  and  Annie 
Bell  were  seated  in  the  drawing-room  at  The  Hollies, 
looking  intently  through  the  windows  opening  on  the 
veranda,  and  evidently  awaiting  the  arrival  of  some 
person  or  persons. 

The  two  gracious  and  beautiful  creatures  seemed  to 
suit  the  place  and  time.  They  might  have  been  taken 
for  sisters,  so  youthful  did  the  rich  complexion  of  her 
rosy  cheeks  and  the  shrinking  little  smile  of  Mrs.  G-aston 
make  their  owner  appear — and  this  resemblance  was  in 
creased  by  the  dresses  which  they  wore  ;  dresses  made  of 
precisely  the  same  material  and  cut — by  orders  from 
Miss  Annie — in  the  very  same  fashion.  This  identity  in 
costume  was  Miss  Annie  Bell's  fantasy,  and  she  despoti 
cally  carried  out  her  caprice  down  to  the  least  details. 
Each  wore  a  little  bow  of  pink  ribbon  above  the  corsage  ; 
each  skirt  was  flounced  and  ornamented  with  rosettes  ; 
and  crowning  triumph  of  despotism ! — supreme  indica 
tion  of  the  fact  that  the  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  was  wax  in 
her  companion's  hands  ! — the  hair  of  the  fair  widow  had 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOtf. 

been  arranged  by  Annie  in  the  last  fashion,  and  a  rose 
bud  nestled  there,  as  one  nestled  in  her  own  glossy 
ringlets. 

The  faces  smiled  and  were  as  fresh  as  the  rosebuds. 
And  The  Hollies  smiled  too.  A  bright  August  sun 
poured  its  glory  on  the  trees  ;  a  slight  wind  pushed  the 
white  clouds  across  the  sea  of  blue ;  and  the  birds  were 
singing  and  the  flowers  blooming  as  they  seemed  to  sing 
and  bloom  nowhere  else  in  all  the  world,  except  here  at 
this  nest  of  doves — The  Hollies  ! 

So  The  Hollies  that  day  and  its  inmates  were  a 
charming  spectacle.  But  listen  ! — this  poetic  repose 
is  about  to  be  disturbed.  Hoofs  are  heard  on  the  road 
beyond  the  grounds ;  the  rider  approaches  the  gate  ;  it 
opens  and  shuts  with  a  clang,,  and  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees 
dismounts  and  approaches  the  house. 

Annie  looks  at  Mrs.  Gaston  with  her  wicked  and  mis 
chievous  smile — at  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston,  whose  cheeks  re 
semble  peonies  in  full  bloom. 

"I  think  I  have  left  my  handkerchief  up-stairs, 
Auntie  !" 

" You  little  goose  !"  is  the  murmured  reply,  "there  it 
is  in  your  belt !  " 

"  Oh  yes  ! — I  didn't  mean  my  handkerchief  !  My 
work-basket !  my  work-basket ! " 

"No,  Annie  ! — no  !  I  do  not  wish " 

' '  But — my  Uncle  Jack  !  Think,  Auntie  !  what  will 
my  Uncle  Jack  say  if  he — sees  me  idle  ! " 

«No !" 

And  Mrs.  Gaston  holds  the  young  witch  by  her  dress. 


PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON".  197 

"  Let  me  go,  Auntie  ! " 

"No— no!" 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Gaston  smiles  and  quietly  releases  her. 

""Well,  go,  as  you  are  so  anxious  to  do  so  !" 

Annie  laughs  in  immense  enjoyment  and  is  about  to 
dart  away. 

"I  suppose  I  can  entertain  both,  my  dear  !" 

And  Mrs.  Gaston  smiles. 

"Both,  Auntie?" 

"I  mean  Dr.  Harrington,  too.  I  see  him  just  coming 
through  the  gate  ! " 

Annie  suddenly  sfcops  and  turns  her  head  toward  the 
window.  Dr.  Ealph  Harrington  is  dismounting  and  ap 
proaches  the  house. 

"  You  will  scarcely  have  time  to  get  your  work-basket, 
dear ! "  says  Mrs.  Gaston,  with  a  little  laugh,  which 
makes  her  charming ;  whereat  Miss  Annie  darts  at  her 
and  exclaims  :  "  You  are  the  sliest,  most  improper,  most 
Oh  !  what  an  absurd  small  auntie  I  have  ! " 

She  then  vanishes  from  the  apartment,  as  though  to 
disappear  up-stairs  j  but  in  some  mysterious  manner  she 
happens  to  be  at  the  door  when  Ralph  Harrington 
reaches  it.  A  little  murmur  is  heard — a  slight  noise  of 
a  singular  sort ;  a  brief,  quick,  incomprehensible  sound, 
as  if — but  the  sound  is  indescribable  ;  and  then  Dr.  Har 
rington  enters  and  salutes  Mrs.  Gaston  and  Mr.  Dam- 
trees — Miss  Annie  making  her  appearance  about  five 
minutes  afterwards,  singing  innocently  as  she  trips  down 
stairs,  and  into  the  room,  where  she  politely  salutes  the 
gentlemen. 


198  PBETTY  MBS. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 


IN"  CONCLAVE. 

THE  HOLLIES  on  this  morning  seemed  destined  to 
be  overwhelmed  with  visitors. 

No  sooner  had  Dr.  Harrington  and  Mr.  Daintrees 
taken  their  seats  than  the  front  gate  again  revolved  on 
its  hinges,  and  Mr.  Ormby  came  in,  Mrs.  Ormby  being 
up-stairs  already  with  Marian. 

And  then  Mr.  Ormby  had  scarcely  finished  his  polite 
and  elaborate  greeting  of  the  company,  when  that  per 
petual  motion  of  a  gate  once  more  opened,  and  George 
Cleave  made  his  appearance  with  Mr.  Jobson. 

The  personages  thus  assembled  at  The  Hollies — with 
the  single  exception  of  Mr.  Jobson — looked  at  each  other 
with  an  astonishment  which  every  moment  increased. 
There  was  evidently  some  mystery  under  this  singular 
meeting  of  so  many  persons  at  the  same  place  and  at  the 
same  hour.  Each  looked  at  the  other,  as  though  to  de 
mand  an  explanation ;  but  no  one  seemed  able  to  give 
this  explanation;  and  a  sudden  silence  ensued  —  one 
of  those  "awful  pauses"  which  prove  mortal  to  social 
enjoyment  in  a  drawing-room. 


PRETTY    MKS.    G  ASTON.  199 

At  this  critical  moment,  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees  rushed 
gallantly  to  the  rescue.  Clearing  his  throat  in  order  to 
hear  his  own  voice  and  give  himself  courage,  Mr.  Dairi- 
trees  assumed  a  winning  smile,  crossed  one  leg  with  an 
easy  and  jaunty  air  over  the  other,  and  said  : 

"It  really  would  appear  that  we  had  all  met  hero  by 
appointment. " 

"Yes,  really,"  said  some  one. 

"That  this  was  a  general  rendezvous  arranged  before 
hand,"  continued  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees,  habituated  now 
to  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  gathering  courage. 

"It  certainly  does  seem  so,"  from  another  of  the  com 
pany. 

"But  what  is  the  explanation?"  said  Mr.  Daintrees 
extending  one  finger  argumentatively.  "  It  is  impossible 
that  everybody  could  have  visited  The  Hollies  to-day  for 
the  reason  which  has  brought  me." 

At  these  words  a  smothered  laugh  was  heard;  and 
looking  in  the  direction  of  the  laugh,  the  company  per 
ceived  Miss  Annie  Bell  concealing  her  laughing  counte 
nance  with  her  little  lace-fringed  handkerchief.  All 
eyes  again  turned  to  Mr.  Daintrees.  Mr.  Daintrees  was 
so  very  red  in  the  face  that  he  seemed  in  danger  of  apo 
plexy.  In  fact,  Mr.  Daintrees's  reasons  for  visiting  The 
Hollies  might  be  conjectured  ! 

" That  is— hem— !" 

Mr.  Daintrees  laughed  rather  faintly. 

"  Suppose  we  each  inform  our  friends  here  assembled, 
if  there  is  any  appointment." 

This  proposal  of  Mr.  Daintrees  was  not   destined   to 


200  PRETTY   MES.    GASTOK. 

result  in  an  explanation  at  that  moment  of  the  mysterious 
gathering.  As  he  spoke,  the  gate  again  opened,  a  horse 
man  came  in  and  dismounted  ;  and  this  horseman,  as  he 
drew  near,  was  seen  to  be  no  less  an  individual  than — Mr. 
Allan  Gartrell. 

As  Mr.  Gartrell  approached  the  veranda,  Mr.  Jobson 
rose  gravely,  and  said: 

"I  have  listened  in  silence  to  your  conjectures,  my 
friends,  not  regarding  it  as  necessary  to  explain  an  as 
semblage  which  I  may  as  well  now  say  I  am  responsible 
for.  Each  guest  of  Mrs.  Gaston's  here  assembled  has 
come  in  consequence  of  a  note  or  request  from  myself,  to 
be  present  at  an  interview  of  the  gravest  and  most  im 
portant  character.  One  person  only  has  come  at  the  in 
vitation  of  another — Mr.  Ormby  wrote  asking  the  pres 
ence  of  Mr.  Gartrell.  He  has  arrived,  and  now  the 
number  will  soon  be  complete. " 

Mr.  Gartrell  entered,  and  bowed  stiffly.  The  number 
of  persons  present  evidently  astonished  him.  Observing 
Mr.  Ormby,  who  was  seated  in  a  large  arm-chair  near 
the  rear  window,  he  approached  him,  took  his  seat  with 
an  easy  air,  or  what  was  meant  to  be  such,  and  said : 

"I  received  your  note,  sir,  asking  me  to  call  and  see 
you  here,  and  here  I  am. " 

The  last  words  were  uttered  with  a  slight  accent  of 
defiance.  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  evidently  began  to  feel  un 
easy,  and  had  recourse  in  consequence  of  that  fact  to  his 
air  of  indifference — as  of  one  who  cared  nothing  for  the 
friendship  or  hostility  of  any  one  present. 

While  he  was  speaking   the  eternal  gate   once  more 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  201 

opened  to  admit  a  last  visitor.  This  time,  however,  the 
latch  made  no  noise,  or  the  voice  of  Mr.  Gartrell  pre 
vented  it  from  attracting  the  attention  of  the  company. 
Mr.  Ormby  did  not  offer  at  the  instant  any  definite  ex 
planation,  such  as  Mr.  G-artrell's  observation  seemed  to 
demand ;  but  he  cleared  his  throat  in  a  loud,  resounding, 
and  elaborate  manner,  which  was  perhaps  the  reason  why 
a  step  upon  the  veranda  was  not  heard. 

Thereat  Mr.  Gartrell  seemed  to  become  irritated,  and 
exhibited  unmistakable  evidences  of  patrician  hauteur. 
He  grew  red  in  the  face,  rose  from  his  chair,  pushing  it 
back  angrily  as  he  did  so,  and  said : 

"I  did  not  come  here,  sir,  to  sit  and  be  stared  at  by 
you  and  your  friends  !  You  wrote  saying  that  you  wished 
to  see  me.  Here  I  am — what  is  your  business  with  me  ?" 

"I  will  answer  that  question,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door. 
"All  these  little  mysteries  will  be  soon  explained,  my 
dear  Mr.  Withes!" 

And  the  smiling,  the  benevolent,  the  beaming  Mr. 
John  Brown  came  into  the  apartment. 


202  PEETTY   MES.    GASTOtf. 


CHAPTEE    XXXVI. 


ME.    BEOWN   BEGINS. 

IT  is  wholly  impossible  to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  extreme  benevolence  with  which  Mr.  Brown 
beamed  upon  the  assembled  company.  This  benevolence 
overflowed  in  his  eyes  and  shone  in  his  smile.  The  thumb 
of  his  left  hand  was  inserted  in  the  armhole  of  his 
ample  waistcoat ;  his  right  hand  was  extended  with  a 
gentle,  persuasive,  and  touching  grace — he  had  the  air 
of  the  stage-father  who  says,  "  Bless  you,  my  children  !" 

The  good  Mr.  Brown  even  beamed  upon  Mr.  Allan 
Gartrell,  or — as  he  had  called  him,  no  doubt,  through 
inadvertence  or  forgetfulness — Mr.  "Wilkes.  But  Mr. 
Gartrell,  or  Mr.  Wilkes,  was  so  unfriendly  as  not  to  recip 
rocate  this  sentiment ;  he  suddenly  started  up,  grew  very 
pale,  and  was  evidently  revolving  the  question  in  his 
mind  whether  he  should  not  rush  upon  Mr.  Brown,  over 
turn  him,  and  make  his  exit  safely  from  the  room. 

"~No,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  extending  his  hand  toward 
Mr.  Gartrell,  and  shaking  his  head  slowly  from  side  to 
side,  with  a  sweet  smile  upon  his  lips,  "No — don't  try 
tJiat,  my  dear  young  friend.  It  will  not  do.  The  thing 
will  hang  fire.  I  am  able  myself  to  deal  with  you — per- 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  203 

fectly  able — but  in  order  to  save  myself  that  trouble  I 
have  a  friend  in  the  passage.  I  have  just  heard  him 
enter.  He  came  in  by  my  request  at  the  back  door,  and 
I  now  hear  him  coughing  modestly  behind  his  hand,  and 
think  I  see  him  there  with  a  stick  beneath  his  arm." 

In  fact,  a  slight  cough  was  heard  from  the  passage 
without,  which  cough  issued  from  the  lips  of  a  gentle 
man  resembling  a  bull  dog — a  friend  of  Mr.  Jobson's 
from  the  county  jail. 

"Life,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  with  a  smiling  and  didactic 
air,  "is  full  of  mysteries;  but,  sooner  or  later,  these 
mysteries  are  cleared  up,  and  I  have  come  this  morning 
to  this  most  agreeable  residence  to  clear  up  one  of  the 
most  interesting  that  I  have  ever  met  with  during  twenty 
years  spent  in  arduous  labor  as — a  member  of  the  detec 
tive  police  in  Scotland  Yard,  London." 

In  the  midst  of  a  stir  of  astonishment  Mr.  Brown  con 
tinued  : 

"Up  to  the  present  moment,  my  friends,  it  is  probable 
that  no  one  of  this  company  has  indulged  a  surmise  even 
upon  the  subject  of  the  identity  or  non-identity  of  the 
gentleman  sitting  yonder,  and  passing  under  the  name 
of  Allan  Gartrell,  Esq.  It  is  my  agreeable  duty  now  to 
throw  light  upon  his  real  name  and  character.  My  friend's 
baptismal  and  family  designations  are  not  Allan  Gartrell, 
but  Charles,  or  familiarly,  Charley  Wilkes.  He  is  not 
the  nephew  of  the  late  Mr. 'Hamilton  Cleave,  of  Cleave- 
land,  but  one  of  the  most  brilliant,  the  most  skilful,  and 
I  will  add  most  elegant  and  popular  ol  the  fast  men,  and 
— burglars — of  London." 


204  PKETTY   MES.    GASTOK. 

As  Mr.  Gartrell,  or  rather  Mr.  "Wilkes,  who  had  sunk 
again  into  his  seat,  suddenly  rose  again  at  these  words, 
Mr.  Brown  drew  forth  a  large  bandanna  handkerchief 
from  the  inner  left  breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  displaying, 
casually,  as  he  did  so,  the  handle  of  his  revolver. 

"Sit  down,  my  friend,"  he  said  benevolently;  "it  will 
be  useless  to  attempt  anything  in  the  way  of  resistance. 
I  have  a  little  persuader  about  me,  which  I  am  used  to 
handling  ;  and  even  if  you  fired  upon  me — I  see  you  are 
armed — my  friend  in  the  passage  would  secure  you." 

"You  have  no  warrant!"  came  in  a  furious  growl 
from  the  pale  Mr.  Gartrell-Wilkes. 

"Oh!  what  a  mistake  !"  returned  Mr.  Brown,  draw 
ing  a  paper  from  his  pocket.  "  I  have  one  in  due  form — 
from  ministerial  headquarters — all  regular.  But  we  are 
losing  time.  Let  me  proceed,  my  friend.  The  company 
I  see  is  impatient,  and  I  have  a  most  interesting  series  of 
events  to  relate." 

Overcome  by  Mr.  Brown's  sang  froid,  or  convinced 
that  all  resistance  was  impossible,  Mr.  Gartrell-Wilkes 
sat  down,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  assumed  a  careless 
and  defiant  expression,  and  did  not  offer  any  further 
interruption. 

11  Ah  !"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "  I  see  that  you  are  a  man  of 
reason  after  all,  my  dear  sir.  You  know  when  to  assume 
the  offensive  and  when  to  observe  a  masterly  inactivity. 
Eemain  silent  therefore,  and  let  me  tell  my  interesting 
story.  There  are  portions  of  it  which  will  be  new  to 
you,  my  friend,  as  well  as  to  this  honorable  company,  I 
think!" 


PRETTY  MBS.    GASTON.  205 


,  CHAPTER    XXXVII. 


ME.    BROWN   CONTINUES. 


C  LEAKING  his   throat,  gazing  around    him   more 
benevolently  than  before,  and  assuming  his  sweet 
est  tones,  Mr.  Brown  continued  : 

"  Let  me  adopt  the  style  of  my  English  literary  friends 
— as  follows  :  On  a  handsome  street  of  Liverpool  stands 
the  banking  house  of  Thompson  Brothers,  and  on  a 
pleasant  afternoon,  a  stranger  of  distinguished  appear 
ance  might  have  been  seen  entering  the  banking  house 
and  presenting  a  check,  calling  for  the  payment  to  the 
bearer  of  the  sum  of  one  thousand  pounds  sterling.  Let 
me  describe  more  particularly  the  appearance  of  the  dis 
tinguished  stranger — but  no,  I  shall  grow  tedious  if  I 
adopt  the  literary  style.  Let  me  be  terse,  my  friends — 
terse  as  my  favorite  novel  writer.  The  check  for  one 
thousand  pounds  was  promptly  paid,  as  it  was  drawn  by 
one  of  the  most  prominent  merchants  of  Liverpool,  and 
it  was  only  two  days  afterwards  that  it  was  discovered  to 
be  a  forgery.  Thereupon  Thompson  Brothers  telegraphed 
to  London  for  a  detective — as  the  Liverpool  police  could 


206  PRETTY   MRS.    G ASTON". 

do  nothing  for  them — and  I  was  sent  down.  The  case 
was  an  embarrassing  one.  There  seemed  no  possibility 
of  identifying  the  distinguished  stranger ;  all  that  the 
clerk  could  say  was  that  he  had  observed  a  singular  scar 
upon  one  of  the  gentleman's  temples.  This  fact  was 
only  mentioned  on  the  day  after  my  arrival,  in  the  most 
casual  manner ;  but  it  gave  me  at  once  the  clue.  I  well 
knew  a  gentleman  with  a  scar  on  his  temple — a  fast  gen 
tleman  about  London,  who  had  been  mixed  up  in  some 
ugly  affairs,  but  had  slipped  out  of  them.  It  occurred  to 
me  in  a  word  that  the  forger  was  Mr.  Charley  Wilkes, 
whom  I  had  not  seen  for  sometime,  in  his  old  haunts, 
and  I  began  my  hunt  for  that  gentleman. 

"It  would  weary  you,  my  friends,  to  expatiate  upon 
the  methods  employed  by  the  respectable  corps  to  which 
I  belong — I  refer  to  the  detective  police — to  follow  up  an 
affair  of  this  description.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  tracked 
my  friend  to  London,  found  that  he  had  left  that  city 
two  days  before  my  arrival ;  then  I  went  over  to  France, 
discovered  that  he  had  not  landed  at  Calais  ;  came  on  his 
track  again  at  Brussels,  which  he  had  reached  by  way  of 
Antwerp,  and  thence  followed  him  by  means  of  the  pass 
port  office  through  Germany  to  the  Prussian  frontier, 
where  his  passport  had  been  vis&d,  to  Berlin. 

"At  Berlin  I  found  everything  in  commotion  at  the 
banking  house  of  Stralsund  &  Company.  A  check, 
drawn  by  the  wealthiest  dealer  in  hides  in  all  Berlin,  had 
been  presented  at  the  bank  in  which  their  funds  were 
deposited,  paid  without  suspicion,  and  the  bank  suddenly 
discovered  itself  minus  the  sum  of  two  thousand  thalers, 


PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOtf.  207 

paid  to  a  forged  check.  When  they  sought  for  the  distin 
guished  stranger  who  had  presented  the  check,  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  found,  and  I  only  came  upon  his  traces 
again,  always  by  means  of  that  lucky  system  of  passports, 
at  Vienna.  When  I  intimate  that  I  pursued  the  same 
routes  of  travel  adopted  by  my  distinguished  friend,  and 
was  enabled  to  do  so  through  the  instrumentality  of  the 
excellent,  but  sometimes  embarrassing,  passport  system, 
I  do  not  mean  that  I  ascertained  at  the  passport  bureaus 
that  Mr.  Charles  Wilkes,  citizen  of  England,  with  resi 
dence  at  London,  had  left  such  a  place  at  such  a  time 
for  such  a  city.  I  was  too  averse  to  losing  my  time  to 
indulge  in  any  inquiries  for  "Mr.  Charles  Wilkes."  I 
requested  everywhere  a  sight  of  the  official  records  at  the 
passport  offices,  announcing  my  object;  they  were  po 
litely  opened  to  my  inspection,  and  I  looked  for  a  signal- 
ment  relating  to  a  gentleman  of  from  twenty-eight  to 
thirty,  of  ruddy  complexion,  vigorous  stature,  dark  hair, 
pleasing  address,  and — with  a  scar  upon  his  left  temple. 
I  was  not  left  unrewarded.  I  found  at  Antwerp  that  the 
Baron  von  Eahmburg,  who  had  obtained  a  passport  to 
visit  Berlin,  was  disfigured  by  the  scar  in  question  ;  and 
at  Berlin  by  a  remarkable  coincidence  the  scar  reappeared 
in  the  passport  description  of  Mr.  John  Wilson,  a  respect 
able  English  gentleman,  who  had  set  out  two  days  before, 
for  Vienna. 

"Well,  at  Vienna  the  police  were  in  a  state  of  real 
fury,  of  mental  prostration,  approaching  despair.  The 
princely  magasin  of  Arnhoff  &  Co.,  Jewellers,  had  been 
broken  into  on  the  night  before.  The  persons  sleeping 


208  PEETTY   MBS.    GASTOIf. 

in  the  magasin  had  been  deluged  with  chloroform,  and 
plate  and  jewels  to  a  fabulous  value  had  been  carried  off 
by  the  burglars.  The  Austrian  police,  I  regret  to  say, 
are  rather  too  deliberate  in  their  movements ;  they  did 
not  investigate  this  unfortunate  affair  until  ten  o'clock 
on  the  next  day ;  and  even  then  they  were  unable  to  dis 
cover  the  least  traces  of  the  perpetrators  of  this  exten 
sive  burglary.  All  that  one  of  the  salesmen  asleep  in 
the  store  could  say  was  that  he  had  a  dim  recollection, 
just  before  losing  consciousness  under  the  effect  of  the 
chloroform,  of  seeing  among  the  burglars  a  man  with 
a  scar  on  Ms  left  temple,  who  appeared  to  be  the  leader 
of  the  gang.  I  was  present  at  the  investigation ;  and 
when  I  heard  this  testimony  I  went  directly  to  the 
office  of  passports.  M.  le  Chevalier  Gautry,  who  had 
obtained  a  passport  to  visit  Geneva,  on  the  day  before, 
had,  by  the  strangest  of  coincidences,  a  scar  on  Ms  left 
temple  ! 

"I  need  not  say,  my  friends,  that  the  affair  of  the 
burglary  at  Vienna  had  now  ceased  to  interest  me.  I 
walked  back  toward  my  hotel,  musing  quietly  upon  the 
subject  of  M.  le  Chevalier  Gautry,  and  was  so  lost  in  ad 
miration  of  that  gentleman  and  his  proceedings  that  an 
unfortunate  accident  happened  to  me.  The  day  was 
rainy,  and  the  streets  very  slippery.  I  was  passing  from 
one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other  when  the  fine  equipage 
of  a  young  Viennese  nobleman — or  rather  the  horses — ran 
against  me ;  I  lost  my  footing,  fell,  the  equipage  went 
ovier  me,  and  my  leg  was  broken:  to  the  great  regret, 
I  ought  to  say,  of  the  yotuig  nobleman,  who  immediately 


PRETTY  MKS.    GASTOI*.  209 

checked  his  horses,  leaped  out,  raised  me  up,  and  offered 
me  a  thousand  apologies. 

"Unfortunately  these  polite  assurances  of  his  very 
great  regret  did  not  heal  the  fracture  in  my  leg.  I  was 
conveyed  to  my  hotel,  and  remained  on  my  back  for  a 
month — torturing  myself,  I  must  say,  with  the  fear  that 
my  friend,  the  Chevalier  Gautry,  would  not  be  at  Geneva 
when  I  went  to  call  upon  him  there.  At  last  my  broken 
bones  were  knit  together  again,  I  could  walk  by  limping 
a  little  ;  whereupon  I  paid  my  bill,  sent  a  line  to  head 
quarters  in  London,  and  took  the  railway  for  Geneva, 
where  I  arrived  safely,  and  stopped  at  the  handsome  and 
well  kept  Hotel  Beau  Rivage,  from  which  I  moved  how 
ever  on  the  next  day  to  the  Hotel  Russie." 


210  PRETTY  MRS.    GASTON. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

MR.    BROWN    CONCLUDES    HIS    EXPLANATION. 

WHEN  Mr.  Brown  uttered  the  words  "Hotel 
Russie,"  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell,  if  we  may  con 
tinue  to  address  the  gentleman  by  that  name,  exhibited 
very  considerable  interest,  and  looked  at  Mr.  Brown  with 
a  dare-devil  smile. 

"Your  narrative  grows  highly  interesting,  my  good 
sir,"  he  said  ;  "continue — you  have  never  told  me  about 
Geneva. " 

"  I  wished  to  reserve  it  as  an  agreeable  surprise  to  you, 
my  worthy  friend,"  replied  the  smiling  Mr.  Brown. 
"  There  was  little  merit  in  my  proceedings  up  to  that 
moment — anybody  might  have  followed  the  Baron  von 
Rahmburg,  Mr.  John  Wilson,  and  the  Chevalier  Gautry 
from  Antwerp  to  Berlin,  from  Berlin  to  Vienna,  and 
from  Vienna  to  Geneva.  That  was  all  in  the  regular 
line  of  business — there  were  the  passport  offices,  and  a 
novice  could  not  have  blundered.  But  from  and  after 
Geneva  the  thing  was  different." 

"Let  us  hear,"  said  Mr.  Gartrell  with  an  easy  air,  "the 
story  becomes  exciting." 


PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOK.  211 

"Delighted  to  interest  you,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr. 
Brown;  "I  will  then  continue.  I  mentioned,  I  believe, 
that  I  left  the  Hotel  Beau  Rivage  on  the  day  after  my 
arrival  at  Geneva,  to  take  up  my  quarters  at  the  Hotel 
Russie.  It  is  a  charming  hotel.  The  view  like  that 
from  the  Beau  Rivage — but  I  must  not  linger  on  the 
charms  of  the  landscape,  of  the  handsome  streets,  of 
the — see  Murray — I  will  continue. 

"My  motive  for  transferring  myself  and  my  luggage  to 
the  Hotel  Russie  was  the  discovery  at  the  office  of  pass 
ports  that  the  Chevalier  Gautry,  from  Vienna,  had  a 
month  before  taken  up  his  residence  there ;  and  as  the 
records  did  not  exhibit  the  fact  that  the  Chevalier  had 
left  Geneva,  I  committed  what,  I  must  say,  was  a  great 
blunder  in  concluding  that,  for  that  reason,  the  Chevalier 
was  still  at  the  Hotel  Russie. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  say  that  I  discovered  that  the 
Chevalier  had  disappeared  about  two  weeks  before ;  and 
as  my  smiling  friend,  the  landlord,  seemed  to  have  a 
a  plenty  of  leisure  011  his  hands,  and  to  be  fond  of  talk 
ing,  I  encouraged  him  to  communicate  any  items  of  in 
terest  relating  to  the  Chevalier,  which  might  be  in  his 
possession.  I  was  amply  rewarded  for  this  chance  sug 
gestion.  My  friend,  the  landlord,  suddenly  glowed 
with  interest.  Anything  relating  to  the  Chevalier 
Gautry  ! — he  exclaimed.  He  could  tell  me  a  thousand 
things — a  hundred  anecdotes  of  this  charming,  this  rav 
ishing  young  nobleman  !  He  threw  his  money  about 
like  water  !  he  never  looked  at  the  items  in  a  bill  ! — he 
ordered  the  oldest  wines,  and  paid  for  them  without  a 


PRETTY  MBS.    GASTOI*. 

word  ! — he  was  a  prince  !  a  prince  !  I  •  give  you  my  word 
of  honor,  monsieur ! — and  it  was  no  wonder  that  the 
English  Milor  Allan  Gartrell,  who  alas  !  had  expired  of 
fever  at  the  Hotel  Russie,  had  become  the  Chevalier's 
bosom  friend ! 

"At  these  words  from  my  fat  little  host,  I  began  to 
listen  with  the  deepest  attention.  I  encouraged  my 
landlord  to  continue  his  remarks.  I  ascertained  what 
follows  :  When  the  Chevalier  Gautry  reached  the  Hotel 
Russie  a  young  Englishman,,  who  had  been  on  a  visit  to 
Rome,  was  lying  very  ill  in  the  hotel.  This  young 
gentleman  was  a  certain  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell — evidently  a 
person  of  ample  means ;  a  very  handsome  and  cordial 
person,  and  bore  the  strongest  possible  resemblance — a 
most  extraordinary  resemblance — to  the  Chevalier  Gautry. 
Two  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  Chevalier  he  had  man 
aged  to  become  acquainted  with  '  Milor  Gartrell,'  and 
thenceforth  scarcely  an  hour  passed  without  a  visit  from 
the  Chevalier  to  the  sick  man's  apartment.  The  Cheva 
lier  watched  over  him,  amused  him,  cheered  him — was  a 
veritable  brother  to  the  poor  young  Milor,  my  host  as 
sured  me  on  his  word  of  honor.  Whenever  any  letters 
came  the  Chevalier  would  receive  them  and  read  them  to 
his  sick  friend.  Whenever  the  young  Milor  required  an 
amanuensis  the  Chevalier  was  there  to  offer  his  services. 
He  was  a  brother — a  veritable  brother  ! — Had  my  friend, 
the  landlord,  I  inquired,  ever  chanced  to  observe  the 
post-mark  011  any  letters  received  ? — Yes,  one  he  had  ob 
served,  as  it  was  the  last  the  young  Milor  ever  received. 
It  had  the  post-mark  of  the  United  States  of  America 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTOItf.  213 

upon  it,  and  the  Chevalier  Gantry  took  it,  as  usual,  and 
went  with  it  np  to  his  friend's  room.  They  remained 
long  together — conversing  in  reference  to  this  letter  it 
seemed,  as  in  passing  he,  the  landlord,  had  heard  the 
rattle  of  paper  mingling  with  the  voices.  This  was 
nearly  the  last  interview  between  Milor  Gartrell  and  his 
friend.  On  that  very  night  the  young  Englishman  be 
gan  to  sink.  The  doctor  was  summoned,  but  before  his 
arrival  the  young  Milor  was  dead  of  his  fever,  brought 
from  the  Pontine  marshes  to  Geneva. 

"  At  this  event,  my  landlord  continued,  the  grief  of 
the  Chevalier  Gautry  was  most  touching.  He  wept,  he 
cried  aloud,  he  paid  the  funeral  expenses  of  his  friend 
without  a  word. — and  it  was  a  magnificent  funeral. 
Then,  overwhelmed  with  grief,  he  paid  his  own  large 
bill  at  the  hotel,  without  looking  at  a  single  item,  and 
left  Geneva  to  return  to  England  and  inform  Milor 
Gartrell7  s  family  of  their  irreparable  loss." 

Mr.  Brown  paused,  and  gazed  around  him  with  his 
blandest  smile. 

"Such,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "was  the  highly  inter 
esting  narrative  which  I  heard  from  my  excellent  host  at 
the  Hotel  Russie,  in  Geneva.  It  caused  me  to  reflect 
deeply.  There  was  under  all  this  very  evidently,  some 
deeply  interesting  plot  of  my  friend,  the  Chevalier 
Bahmburg-Wilson-Gautry-Wilkes  !  And  let  me  say  at 
once  with  what  I  think  you  will  regard,  my  friends,  as 
modest  and  pardonable  pride — let  me  say  that  in  ten 
minutes,  nay  in  one  minute,  I  had  discovered  the  Che 
valier's  daring  ruse.  The  clue  to  this  discovery  was  that 


214  PRETTY    MRS.    GASTO^. 

extraordinary  resemblance  that  he  bore  to  Mr.  Allan 
Gartrell,  and  I  had  not  the  least  doubt  that  he  had  taken 
advantage  of  it  for  some  purpose.  You  are  obliged,  my 
friends,  in  this  singular  trade  of  detecting  criminals,  to 
enter,  as  I  may  say,  into  the  feelings  and  views  of  the 
person  you  are  pursuing — and  put  yourself  in  his  place. 
Now  I  knew  that  the  Chevalier  Gautry-Wilkes  was  a 
gentleman  of  great  daring,  and,  above  all,  of  vivid  and 
kindling  imagination — that  to  assume  the  name  and 
character  of  a  dead  man  would  present  itself  with  bril 
liant  attractions  to  a  person  like  himself — and  I  did  not 
lose  sight  of  the  further  fact  that  nothing  could  have 
been  more  desirable  to  him  at  the  time  than  to  assume  a 
new  alias;  to  disappear  as  Mr.  Gfautry-Wilkes,  and  re 
appear  as  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell. 

"The  only  thing  which  puzzled  me,"  continued  Mr. 
Brown,  "was  to  determine  whither  Mr.  Wilkes,  under 
his  new  name  of  Gartrell,  had  gone.  Not  to  England — 
he  was  much  too  intelligent  for  that.  Not  even  to  Paris 
— there  were  many  young  Englishmen  there  who  proba 
bly  knew  the  late  Mr.  Gartrell.  I  therefore  concluded 
that  the  letter  from  America  had  suggested  an  idea  to 
my  friend,  the  Chevalier ;  that  he  had  been  seized  with 
an  ardent  desire  to  explore  the  magnificent  natural  scen 
ery,  and  form  his  own  opinion  upon  the  complicated 
social  relations  of  that  great  republic,  the  United 
States." 

Mr.  Brown  smiled  modestly,  and  added  : 
"  You  will  perceive  that  I  was  burning,  as  the  children 
say,  my  friends.     I  was  right  so  far ;  but  a  long  and 


PRETTY   MRS.    G  ASTON.  215 

weary  chase  was  still  necessary ;  greater  trouble  than 
before  to  follow  my  friend.  Good  fortune  came  to  my 
aid,  however — all  the  mystery  was  cleared  up  in  a  mo 
ment.  I  had  proposed  to  visit  New  York  first,  from 
which  city  Mr.  Allan  Gartrell  would  no  doubt  write  to 
his  banker  in  England  for  remittances,  in  his  ordinary 
handwriting,  so  well  known  to  his  Geneva  friend,  the 
Chevalier  !  but  after  New  York,  the  real  trouble  of  fol 
lowing  him  would  begin,  as  you  have  no  passport  system. 
Well,  I  was  revolving  all  this  in  my  mind  at  the  Hotel 
Russie,  Geneva,  when — presto  !  comes  a  letter  for  Allan 
Gartrell,  Esq.,  forwarded  from  his  Liverpool  bankers. 
It  was  the  second  letter  written  by  Mr.  George  Cleave 
announcing  his  intention  to  surrender  Cleaveland  to  his 
cousin.  I  ascertained  that  fact  by  opening  the  letter — 
my  host  had  intrusted  it  to  me  for  delivery  to  Mr.  Gar- 
trelPs  family  in  England,  whither  I  told  him  I  was  going. 

"Thenceforward,  my  friends,  all  was  plain  sailing.  I 
knew  now,  perfectly  well,  where  I  should  find  my  friend 
the  Chevalier  Wilkes-Gartrell.  I  came  to  JSTew  York,  and 
thence  to  Waterford  and  Cleaveland,  where  I  announced 
my  real  character — or  rather  recalled  myself — to  my 
friend  Mr.  Wilkes.  My  stay  was  longer  than  I  intended, 
but  I  became  interested  in  this  friendly  little  neighbor 
hood  and  its  affairs — I  enjoyed  the  hospitalities  of  my 
friend  Mr.  Daintrees  ;  and  I  may  add  that  I  restored  the 
sum  of  two  thousand  dollars,  through  my  friend  Mr. 
Jobson,  to  a  young  gentleman  who  lost  it,  owing  to  the 
great  skill  at  cards  of  Mr.  Wilkes  ! 

t(  A  few  words  will  finish  this  narrative,  my  friends," 


216  PKETTY    MRS.    GASTOtf. 

said  Mr.  Brown.  "I  have  said  that  I  remained  in  the 
hospitable  abode  of  Mr.  Wilkes-Gartrell  much  longer 
than  I  intended  ;  but  I  hope  Mr.  Cleave  will  not  charge 
me  for  his  champagne  consumed  there,  in  consideration 
of  my  present  services  !  Well,  to  end — I  was  much 
amused  by  my  worthy  friend's  aim  to  ally  himself  with 
the  honorable  family  of  Mr.  Ormby.  I  delayed  further 
proceedings.  I  lingered,  greatly  interested,  when  one 
day  Mr.  Wilkes  insisted  on  hurling  a  bottle  at  me,  and  I 
grew  a  little  tired  of  him.  I  accordingly  went  away  from 
his  princely  mansion — ostensibly  departed  on  the  railway 
for  parts  unknown  ;  but  on  the  same  night  I  made  my 
way  back  to  Waterf  ord,  and  remained  perdu  in  a  private 
chamber  of  my  excellent  friend  Mr.  Jobson's,  much  to 
the  agitation,  I  fear,  of  Mrs.  Jobson.  Need  I  say  that 
everything  had  been  arranged  between  myself  and  Mr. 
Jobson  for  this  interesting  explanation  in  the  presence  of 
everybody  ?  I  called  on  him  for  that  purpose  on  my  way 
back  one  day  from  the  residence  of  Mr.  Ormby,  and 
there,  I  must  say,  my  heart  bled  at  sight  of  a  young  lady 
who  was  pale,  ill,  fainting,  dying  nearly,  from  the  brutal 
persistence  of  this  man  Wilkes  to  force  her  to  marry 
him!" 

No  one  would  have  supposed  the  benevolent  counte 
nance  of  Mr.  Brown  capable  of  assuming  a  look  so  stern 
and  forbidding  as  it  assumed  when  he  uttered  these 
words.  All  his  smiles  had  disappeared — all  the  tone  of 
banter  had  gone  out  of  his  voice.  It  was  a  stern  and 
indignant  judge  that  stood  there,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  face  of  Mr.  Gartrell- Wilkes. 


PEETTY  MES.    GASTOIff. 

And  that  gentleman  betrayed  an  emotion,  as  the  vibra 
ting  voice  resounded,  which  he  had  not  before  displayed. 
His  careless  and  ironical  air  deserted  him,,  his  face  filled 
with  blood,  and  his  hand  went  with  a  sudden  movement 
to  his  breast. 

" A  fine — a  very  fine  sentiment !"  he  growled,  "from 
— a  common  policeman." 

Mr.  Brown's  eyes  flashed. 

"It  is  better  to  be  a  common  policeman  than  to  be  a 
thief — and  a  heartless  scoundrel,  sir,"  he  said. 

"A  scoundrel ! — beware  ! " 

"Beware  of  what  ?  Of  your  displeasure  ?  That  might 
frighten  children,  my  good  sir ;  it  is  a  small  thing  to 
me!"  > 

"Take  care—!" 

Mr.  Brown  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker  with  an 
expression  of  contempt,  which  evidently  galled  that  gen 
tleman  extremely. 

"Instead  of  measuring  my  words,  my  good  Mr.  Gau- 
try-"Wilkes,"  he  said  with  immense  disdain,  "Iwill^x- 
press  my  meaning  a  little  more  clearly  than  before !  I 
came  to  this  country  with  the  simple  view  of  performing 
my  professional  duty.  I  had  no  special  dislike  to  you. 
I  remained  in  your  house,  or  rather  in  the  house  which 
you  occupied,  more  amused  than  anything  else  with  your 
skilful  operations,  and  content  to  defer  arresting  you, 
until  the  humor  to  do  so  seized  me.  Your  insolence  to 
me  was  nothing — that  is  your  nature.  Your  threats  of 
personal  violence  were  amusing,  and  I  did  not  fear  them. 
For  your  character  I  had,  as  I  said,  no  very  great  dislike 


218  PKETTY   MRS.    GASTOl*. 

— the  result  it  may  be  of  the  fact  that  I  am  a  '  common 
policeman.'  As  such  I  am  used  to  forgers  and  burglars 
like  yourself — have  perhaps  lost  my  disgust  for  them ; 
but  for  some  offences  in  men  I  have  no  pity ! " 

Mr.  Gartrell-Wilkes  looked  as  black  as  night. 

"Beware  !"  he  said  again. 

"You  are  one  of  the  swell-mob/'  continued  Mr.  Brown, 
"and  to  lie  and  steal  is  perfectly  natural  to  you.  But 
even  the  swell-mob  gentlemen  disdain  to  do  some  things. 
They  are  thieves,  pickpockets,  burglars,  and  laugh  at  the 
law.  But  I  tell  you,  sir — and  it  will  explain  the  great 
disgust  I  now  feel  toward  you — that  not  the  worst  thief 
in  London,  the  meanest  pickpocket,  would  have  been 
guilty  of  this  heartless  scheme  to  break  the  heart  of  a 
mere  child  like  Miss  Ormby — -or  acted,  as  you  have  acted, 
with  this  coarse  cruelty  and  cowardice  ! " 

The  words  and  tones  of  the  speaker  were  full  of  such 
extreme  contempt  that  Mr.  Gartrell-Wilkes  was  stung  to 
the  quick,  and  lost  his  head.  Eage  carried  him  away ;  his 
hand  darted  to  his  breast,  and  drawing  a  long  and  mur 
derous-looking  knife,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  cool 
Mr.  Brown.  That  gentleman  was,  however,  ready  for 
him.  His  own  hand  had  gone  no  less  rapidly  to  his 
breast  pocket  —  the  barrel  of  his  revolver  suddenly 
gleamed,  and  the  muzzle  Was  upon  his  enemy's  breast. 

But  the  knife  raised  aloft  did  not  fall,  nor  was  the 
pistol  discharged.  The  individual  resembling  a  bull-dog 
had  listened  with  great  attention  from  the  passage  to  the 
conversation  which  has  been  recorded,  had  approached 
the  door,  had  seen  the  knife  gleam — and,  all  at  once,  a 


PEETTY   MKS.    GASTOtf. 


219 


heavy  stick  descended  upon  the  head  of  Mr.  Grartrell- 
Wilkes,  who  staggered,  reeled  back,  and  ended  by  mea 
suring  his  length  upon  the  floor,  where  he  was  speedily 
handcuffed  and  secured  by  the  constable. 

The  company  had  started  up  in  confusion.    Mr.  Brown 


M 


THE  rNlHVTDUAi.  KESEMT3L1NG  A   BULL-BOG   ffAT>  LISTENED. 

alone  preserved  his  air  of  perfect  composure.  He  un 
cocked  his  revolver,  restored  it  to  his  breast  pocket,  and 
stood  looking  with  philosophic  interest  upon  the  pros 
trate  and  handcuffed  figure. 

"A  cool  hand,    a  very  cool    hand — my  friend,   Mr. 
Charley  Wilkes  !"  he  said  in  a  moralizing  tone  ;  "  one  of 


220  PRETTY   MRS.    GASTOK. 

the  coolest  hands,  in  fact,  I  have  ever  known !  His 
forgeries  and  burglaries  did  not  distinguish  him  among 
the  crowd  of  competitors — but  this  personation  of  a  dead 
man  indicated  genius  !  What  a  pity  that  a  '  common 
policeman '  should  interfere  !  "Well,  my  hand  is  on  him 
at  last,  and  his  game  is  played.  He  deserves  his  fate. 
A  thief  ? — that  is  bad,  but  not  the  worst  thing  about  my 
friend.  The  meanest  thief  I  know  would  have  been 
ashamed  of  what  this  rascal  has  attempted — to  break  the 
heart  of  a  poor  girl,  whose  face  reminded  me  of  a  little 
girl  of  my  own  in  England  ! " 


PRETTY  MRS.    GASTON. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

AND  THE  CURTAIN  FALLS  UPON  THE  COMEDY. 

OUR  comedy — as  we  venture  to  style  this  little  history 
of  "Pretty  Mrs.  Gaston" — naturally  ends  with  the 
happy  termination  of  the  love  affairs  embraced  in  it,  and 
with  the  discovery  that-George  Cleave  was  still  the  pro 
prietor  of  Cleaveland. 

A  few  words  on  the  subsequent  fates  of  the  personages 
may,  however,  interest  the  reader.  Let  us  take  them  in 
turn. 

George  Cleave  and  Marian  were  married  in  the  autumn, 
and  went  to  live  at  Cleaveland  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened.  The  young  man's  title  to  the  property  was  un 
assailable  upon  either  of  two  grounds.  He  had  infor 
mally  surrendered  it  under  a  paper  which  had  no  legal 
force,  from  the  absence  of  witnesses  to  attest  it ;  and  if 
his  title  had  been  lost,  it  was  restored  by  the  death  of 
the  real  Allan  Gartrell,  from  whom,  as  his  nearest  re 
lative,  he  inherited.  Thus  Cleaveland  was  his  own 
again,  and  as  Mr.  Ormby's  property  at  Bayview  was  soon 
sold,  that  gentleman  and  Mrs.  Ormby,  at  George's 
earnest  request,  came  to  live  at  Cleaveland,  where  Mr. 
Orrnby  for  the  next  ten  years  promenaded  on  the  long 
portico  morning  and  evening,  taking  the  landscape,  as  of 
old,  under  his  protection. 


PRETTY   MES.    GASTOK. 

Kalph  Harrington  and  Annie,  and  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees 
and  pretty  Mrs.  Gaston  were  married  at  the  same  time — 
The  Hollies  blazing  with  lights  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
Ralph  lives  at  "  Tree  Hill,"  near  Waterford,  and  is  per 
fectly  happy.  And  Mr.  Jack  Daintrees — but  how  shall 
we  depict  the  bliss  of  Mr.  Daintrees  ?  He  wonders  how 
he  ever  remained  a  bachelor  so  long.  He  is  henpecked 
in  a  fearful  manner,  but  not  aware  of  the  fact.  He  does 
not  live  at  The  Lodge — he  lives  at  The  Hollies,  where 
he  went  to  reside  after  a  long  but  ineffectual  struggle. 
Mr.  Daintrees  does  not  hunt  the  fox  any  more.  He 
gives  the  gayest  dinners,  but  is  even  losing  his  taste  for 
that.  He  lolls  in  a  dressing-gown  and  gorgeous  slippers, 
smokes  a  great  deal,  and  has  a  taste  for  landscape 
gardening.  When  not  thus  employed,  he  may  be  seen 
holding  his  wife's  worsted,  while  she  rolls  it  into  a  ball, 
gazing  meanwhile  with  admiring  eyes  into  one  of  the 
prettiest  faces  in  the  world. 

Of  Mr.  Jobson  we  need  say  nothing — these  old  law- 
machines  run  on  in  the  same  groove.  And  Mr.  Brown 
and  Mr.  Wilkes  may  be  dismissed  in  a  few  words.  Mr. 
Brown  went  away  with  his  friend  in  charge ;  but  Mr. 
Wilkes  was  a  "cool  hand"  indeed,  as  he  soon  proved. 
He  eluded  his  friend  at  one  of  the  stations  on  the  railway 
—was  no  more  seen — but  is  supposed  to  have  been  recog 
nized  as  a  prominent  citizen  of  Poker  Plat,  on  the  coasts 
of  the  Pacific,  where  he  secures  an  ample  maintenance  by 
his  skill  at  games  of  cards. 

The  little  neighborhood  which  we  have  visited,  kind 
reader,  soon  settled  down  again  and  grew  quiet.  Every- 


PEETTY   MKS.    GASTON.  223 

body  smiled  at  everybody,  and  plainly  thought  the  world 
around  Waterford  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds. 

I  had  heard  of  these  events  and  went  thither  to  spend 
the  autumn.  I  was  a  guest  at  Tree  Hill,  and  basked  in 
the  sunshine  of  a  pair  of  eyes,  the  brightest  and  sweetest 
I  ever  saw — the  eyes  of  "  Annie  Bell,"  at  present  Mrs. 
Ealph  Harrington.  One  day  we  went  over  to  dine  at 
The  Hollies,  and  that  smiling  nest  of  doves,  upon  which 
a  bachelor  hawk  had  intruded,  was  in  all  its  glory. 

As  the  sun  was  setting  behind  a  mass  of  piled-up 
orange  clouds,  I  went  with  Mrs.  Annie  to  a  certain 
rustic  seat  of  which  I  had  heard — the  seat  where,  on  the 
night  of  the  party,  Ealph  Harrington  grew  romantic.  I 
smiled  as  I  alluded  to  the  scene,  and  Mrs.  Annie 
blushed. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  laughing  through  her  roses, 
"but  Auntie  had  a  rustic  seat,  too  ;  yonder  she  comes — 
ask  her  if  she  did  not ! " 

I  looked  up.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jack  Daintrees  were  ap 
proaching  across  the  lawn  ;  the  lady  with  her  little  timid 
smile  and  shy  manner — the  gentleman  fat,  good-humor 
ed,  and  unrom  antic. 

"  What  a  very  strange  world  we  live  in  !  "  said  Annie 
laughing. 

"That  is  a  sage  observation — quite  true  in  every 
particular — but  your  meaning,  madam  ?  " 

"I  mean  that — I  am  married  to  Ralph,  and — 

She  raised  her  hand,  pointing  to  the  approaching  pair. 

"  And  here  is  the  end  of  '  Pretty  Mrs.  Gaston '  !  " 


ANNIE    AT   THE    CORNER. 


CHAPTEK     I. 

FKOM  A  WINDOW. 

I  AM  not  a  married  man,  and  I  do  not  think  that  all 
my  lady  acquaintances  are  angels  ;  consequently,  I 
am  a  miserable  old  bachelor. 

There  is  absolutely  no  doubt  upon  the  subject,  I  am 
informed  by  my  friends ;  and  so,  because  I  think  that 
something  more  than  the  want  of  wings  distinguishes  the 
fair  from  the  other  class,  and  because  I  spend  my  life  in 
a  suit  of  apartments,  undisturbed  by  the  musical  laugh 
ter  of  children — for  these  reasons,  as  I  have  said,  I  am  a 
crusty,  musty,  miserable  old  unmarried  misanthrope. 

I  have  been  substantially  notified  of  the  fact  more  than 
once,  by  Miss  Tabitha  Kinggold,  who  lives  in  the  hand 
some  house  opposite;  and  though  I  am  charitable,  my 
friend,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  that  fair  lady  were,  at 
the  present  moment,  directing  her  private  spy-glass  into 
224 


ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER.  225 

my  chamber  from  behind  her  white  curtain,  a  corner  of 
which  is,  I  perceive,  slightly  raised :  I  would  not  be  at 
all  surprised  if  Miss  Tabitha  were  there,  looking  through 
the  open  window  here,  and  lamenting  the  failure  of 
science  to  discover  ear-trumpets,  such  as  might  be  used 
to  catch  a  distant  conversation. 

Miss  Tabitha  often  arrays  herself  in  her  best  finery, 
and  leans  from  the  window,  with  nods  and  smiles,  and 
silent  invitations  to  come  in,  when  I  chance  to  pass.  I 
do  not  accept  these  invitations  often,  as  you  will  under 
stand,  if  you  listen  further;  but  sometimes  I  do  go  over 
and  take  a  hand  at  whist  in  the  small  parlor ;  in  conse 
quence  of  which,  I  am  considered,  I  believe,  an  admirer 
of  Miss  Tabitha,  and  more  than  once  my  cynical  and  dis 
courteous  bachelor  companions  have  gone  so  far  as  to 
declare  that  Miss  Tabitha  has  long  been  engaged  in  the 
pleasing  occupation  of  setting  her  maiden  cap  at  me  and 
my  six  per  cents.  Of  course  I  do  not  give  any  credit  to 
these  scandalous  jests  and  rumors,  and  I  invariably  re 
prove  Bob  when  he  gives  utterance  to  them.  There  is, 
of  course,  no  truth  in  the  charge,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  I 
regret  to  say  that,  even  if  there  were  not  other  objections, 
I  could  not  solicit  the  honor  of  a  matrimonial  alliance 
with  Miss  Tabitha — my  affections  being  engaged. 

Ah !  do  you  start  a  little  ?  Do  you  look  at  me  with 
astonishment,  and  ask,  with  your  eloquent  eyes,  if  I  am 
not  uttering  a  pleasant  jest?  /engaged — you  seem  to 
say  with  a  change  of  the  pronoun — I,  the  incorrigible  old 
bachelor,  the  woman-hater,  the  misanthrope,  the  misera- 
•ble,  disagreeable,  outrageous,  old  curmudgeon  !  My 


226  ANNIE  AT  THE  COBNER. 

affections  engaged,  when  the  utmost  inquisition  of  femi 
nine  curiosity  eternally  on  the  watch,  has  never  discov 
ered  the  least  loop  to  hang  a  report  upon  ?  Well,  my 
dear  friend,  perhaps  there  is  some  ground  for  surprise, 
and  your  astonishment  is  not  singular.  My  engagement 
is  certainly  not  exactly  what  the  world  would  call  bind 
ing — and  yet  it  binds  me.  Such  things  must  frequently 
result  in  a  matrimonial  alliance  between  the  man  and  the 
woman — at  least  sometimes :  now,  my  engagement  will 
not  probably  have  any  such  termination.  Gossips  talk 
about  Corydon,  when  he  goes  constantly  to  visit  Chloe, 
in  glossy  patent  leathers,  a  flowery  waistcoat,  hair  ele 
gantly  curled,  and  a  perfumed  handkerchief  gently  waved 
in  a  diamond-decorated  hand.  They  talk  a  great  deal 
about  that  young  man,  and  the  talk  rises  into  a  hubbub, 
when  the  watchful  eyes  perceive  the  youth  finally  emerg 
ing  from  the  mansion  of  his  love,  with  beaming  eyes, 
and  nose  raised  high  aloft  with  triumph,  while  Chloe 
sends  a  golden  smile  toward  him  as  he  goes,  from  behind 
the  curtain  of  the  drawing-room.  The  gossips,  I  say, 
talk  about  Corydon's  engagement  for  a  month  thereafter ; 
but  the  most  inveterate  and  ferocious  tattle  never  occu 
pies  itself  with  my  little  affair. 

I  never  speak  of  it ;  the  object  of  my  affections  pre 
serves  silence,  too ;  and  not  even  Miss  Tabitha  suspects 
our  little  arrangement.  If  I  tell  you  all  about  it  now, 
good  friend  of  many  years,  I  do  so  because  'tis  scarcely 
loyal  to  our  friendship  to  have  aught  of  reserve ;  but, 
above  all,  because  my  burden  of  thought  and  feeling  cries 
aloud  for  utterance. 


AKNIE  AT  THE   CORKER.  227 

I  linger  on  the  threshold — let  me  linger  a  moment 
longer  yet,  and  ask  you  if  I  have  never  seemed  eccentric 
to  you  ?  Often  in  passing  to  your  counting-house,  you 
send  me  a  friendly  nod  as  I  lean  from  my  window  in  the 
sunshine;  and,  doubtless,  you  go  on  to  your  arduous 
toils,  thinking  what  a  happy  fellow  I  am  to  afford  to  be 
idle,  when  you  and  your  whole  establishment  will  all  day 
be  struggling  to  balance  the  books  of  the  firm.  You 
honestly  consider  me  idle  at  such  moments  :  my  friend,  I 
am  never  busier.  You  think  me  solitary :  I  am  sur 
rounded  by  companions.  The  street  may  be  wholly 
deserted ;  the  city  square  yonder  may  not  tempt  a  single 
child  to  enjoy  its  green  sward  and  shadow — Miss  Tabitha 
even  may  be  busy  at  her  invisible  toilet,  and  her  window 
deserted — yet  I  am  not  alone. 

When  the  real  figures  of  actual,  living  personages  ap 
pear,  however,  they  do  not,  by  any  means,  disturb  my 
revery.  I  am  not  at  war  with  my  kind,  but  often  find 
in  the  forms  of  men,  women,  and  children  what  pleases 
me,  and  heightens  the  zest  of  my  recollections. 

I  lean  upon  the  sill  of  my  window,  and,  thrumming 
idly  with  my  fingers,  scan  the  different  wayfarers  with 
smiling  attention.  I  see  my  friend  Dives  with  his  jing 
ling  watch-seals,  his  creaking  boots,  his  spotless  shirt 
bosom,  and  his  dignified  look,  go  by  to  his  warehouse, 
saluted  respectfully  by  the  heads  of  our  two  "  first  fami 
lies" — the  Scribes  and  Pharisees — who  sometimes  invite 
me  to  their  palaces  up  town.  And,  as  Dives  disappears 
like  a  moving  bank  round  the  corner,  I  perceive  Lazarus, 
with  his  maimed  limbs,  swinging  himself  by,  on  his 


228  ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER. 

hands,  inserted  in  wooden  gloves — the  shadow  of  his  low 
figure  mingling  with  that  of  Dives.  Of  course  I  do  not 
know  Lazarus,  as  I  move  in  good  society :  yet  I  am  glad 
to  see  him  with  the  cheerful  smile  on  his  pale,  thin  face ; 
and  when  he  passes  on  this  side  of  the  street,  I  sometimes 
drop  slyly  a  piece  of  money  into  his  bosom,  and  laugh  to 
myself,  as  I  draw  back,  fancying  his  puzzled  expression. 
I  related  this  incident  at  dinner,  the  other  day,  to  my 
friend  Dives  and  his  guests ;  but  he  raised  the  question 
whether  such  things  were  advisable,  the  public  charities 
being  amply  sufficient  for  meritorious  sufferers,  while 
individual  relief  encouraged  pauperism  and  idleness. 

"But,  my  dear  Dives,"  I  said  with  a  smile,  "suppose 
the  coin  which  I  dropped  bought  some  small  articles  for 
the  children  of  Lazarus,  and  so  gave  them  pleasure  far 
greater  than  any  I  could  have  enjoyed  by  spending  the 
money?" 

"The  principle  in  the  thing,"  replied  my  friend,  sip 
ping  his  claret  and  shaking  his  head,  "the  principle  is 
bad.  As  members  of  society,  we  are  bound  to  observe 
the  laws  of  society ;  and  as,  in  a  state  of  society,  we  must 
be  governed  by  the  rules  and  regulations  of  that  society, 
so  I  think,  as  a  member  of  that  society,  you  were  rather 
bound  to  have  this  individual  sent  to  prison  as  a  vagrant 
on  society,  than  to  encourage  him  in  what  must  event 
ually  render  it  necessary  to  make  an  example  of  him  for 
the  good  of  society." 

Those  were  the  words  of  Dives ;  and  as  my  friend  the 
Keverend  A.  Caiphas  asked  me  at  the  moment  to  take 
wine,  the  discussion  was  not  resumed.  I  am  obstinate, 


AKKIE  AT  THE  CORNER.  229 

nevertheless,  and  shall  probably  continue  to  outrage  the 
rules  and  regulations  of  "  society,"  if  the  whim  seizes 
me,  when  Lazarus  passes  beneath  my  window. 

I  am  running  on  pretty  much  at  random,  and  shall 
not,  at  this  rate,  get  to  my  story.  But  I  take  so  much 
interest  in  my  window  observations,  that  I  am  led  to 
weary  you  with  them.  A  word  more,Aand  I  shall  get 
regularly  to  my  narrative. 

Besides  Dives  and  Lazarus,  I  see  many  other  figures 
pass  on  the  street.  I  see  Strephon  go  by  in  the  tightest 
boots,  the  finest  kid  gloves,  and  the  glossiest  hat,  escort 
ing  Miss  Almira,  the  daughter  of  old  Two-per-cent ;  and 
I  stand,  or  rather  lean,  in  silent  admiration  of  her  gorge 
ous  appearance,  as  she  sails  by,  rustling  in  silks  and 
satins,  with  a  bird  of  paradise  upon  her  bonnet.  She  has 
chosen  to  walk  on  account  of  the  sunshine,  and  the  great 
carriage,  with  its  liveried  driver  and  footman,  rolls  by, 
unoccupied.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  poor  girl  yonder  slink 
ing  round  the  corner,  and  looking  so  faint  and  weak, 
can  not  ride  a  little  in  it ;  and  I  fancy  Strephon  might 
procure  this  favor  for  her,  as  the  weak  girl  exchanges  a 
look  with  him,  which  seems  to  indicate  acquaintance. 
The  three  figures  pass  on,  and  disappear ;  but  somehow, 
the  look  of  the  pale,  weak  girl  dwells  in  my  memory,  and 
haunts  me.  Well,  I  weary  you,  good  friend,  and  another 
word  ends  my  window  pictures.  In  addition  to  the 
figures  I  have  mentioned,  my  observant  eyes  descry  the 
merry  forms  of  children  dancing  over  the  velvet  sward 
of  the  public  square — rolling  their  hoops,  playing  by  the 
fountain,  and  shouting  at  their  play.  Their  sweet  faces 


230  AKNIE  AT  THE  COEKEE. 

please  me;  and  the  bright  eyes  seem  to  make  the  day 
more  brilliant,  the  deep  blue  sky  of  a  softer  azure.  It  is 
only  in  the  afternoon  that  I  see  them,  for  in  the  morn 
ing  they  are  at  school. 

One  of  them  wears  a  blue  dress,  and  a  white  chip  hat, 
secured  beneath  her  chin  by  a  pink  ribbon — and,  thus 
accoutred,  she  passes  every  morning  to  school,  directly 
opposite  my  window. 

As  I  gaze,  with  my  shoulders  drooping,  my  fingers  in- 
yeterately  thrumming,  my  eyes  half-closed,  and  my  lips 
wreathed  with  smiles,  a  little  sad,  perhaps,  in  their  ex 
pression,  I  see  my  little  friend  come  tripping  along  by 
the  row  of  elms,  cased  in  their  square  boxes,  and  I  am 
pleased  to  see  her  bright  figure,  lit  up  by  the  sunlight 
which  dances  on  her  curls,  her  straw  hat,  her  checkered 
flag  satchel,  gaily  swung  upon  the  bare  arm,  and  the 
little  boots  of  crimson  morocco,  tightly  fitting  to  her 
delicate  ankles.  I  wait  for  her,  and  look  for  her  appear 
ance,  and  when  she  comes,  I  follow  her  with  my  eyes,  as 
she  arrives  opposite,  and  then  disappears  round  the 
corner.  She  is  different  from  some  other  young  ladies  of 
my  acquaintance,  who  pass  on  a  similar  errand.  These 
latter  look  up  as  they  pass,  at  my  grizzled  hair,  my  gray 
mustache,  my  carelessly  thrumming  fingers,  and  I  know 
very  well,  that  at  such  times,  they  are  thinking  who  on 
earth  the  old  fellow  at  the  window  can  be ;  the  curious 
old  fellow,  always  leaning  from  the  very  same  opening,  in 
the  very  same  way,  and  smiling  as  he  beats  his  tattoo, 
with  the  very  same  idle  and  dreamy  expression. 

My  little  friend  of  the  blue  dress  and  white  chip  hat 


ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNEB.  231 

does  not  treat  me  quite  so  cavalierly.  As  she  passes, 
every  morning,  she  raises  her  blue  eyes,  and  smiles  in 
the  most  winning  way,  nodding  her  head  in  token  of  re 
cognition,  and  thus  causing  a  profusion  of  brown  curls 
to  ripple  around  the  brightest  cheeks  in  the  world. 
Having  thus  indicated  the  pleasure  she  experiences  in 
seeing  me  smiling  and  well,  my  little  friend  kisses  her 
hand,  laughing,  and  tripping  on  more  rapidly,  to  make  up 
for  lost  time,  vanishes  round  the  corner,  singing  "  Lucy 
ISTeal,"  or  ' ( Lily  Dale/5  or  some  other  melody  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  organ-grinders. 

This  brief  and  fitting  exchange  of  friendly  attentions 
between  myself  and  the  child  takes  place  every  morning, 
and,  when  she  disappears,  I  close  my  window,  and  lean 
ing  back  in  my  favorite  chair,  the  red  velvet  yonder, 
light  my  old  meerschaum  and  ponder.  I  generally  re 
main  thus,  silent  and  motionless,  for  an  hour  before  I 
commence  reading  the  newspapers,  over  whose  contents 
it  is  my  habit  to  growl  and  vituperate. 

I  am  going  now  to  tell  you  what  I  think  about  in  these 
morning  reveries,  and  to  explain  the  circumstances  which 
attended  my  engagement,  which  engagement  unfortun 
ately  interferes  with  any  matrimonial  views  in  connection 
with  my  friend,  Miss  Tabitha.  I  see  that  the  corner 
of  her  curtain  has  fallen,  and  so  we  are  entirely  to  our 
selves. 


232  ANNIE  AT  THE  CORSTEB. 


CHAPTER    II. 


A  SCHOOL    GIEL. 

I  REACHED  the  age  of  twenty-five  without  ever 
having  been  in  love. 

I  do  not  deny,  that  two  or  three  times  I  had  fancied 
myself  smitten  by  the  charms  of  young  ladies  with  pretty 
lips  and  rosy  faces.  I  am  sure,  however,  that  I  by  no 
means  loved  them,  and  that,  simply  because  their  smiles 
or  frowns  neither  pleased  nor  grieved  me  in  any  consider 
able  measure — an  excellent  test,  in  my  opinion,  and  one 
which  quite  satisfies  me. 

I  tranquilly  pursued  my  daily  occupation,  which  was 
that  of  a  clerk  with  a  moderate  salary,  in  the  house  of 
Wopper  &  Son,  now  dissolved ;  and  after  my  routine  in 
the  counting-house,  generally  spent  my  evenings  in 
strolling  about  and  reflecting  upon  my  prospects.  I  was 
an  orphan,  and  there  were  very  few  congenial  companions 
at  the  house  where  I  boarded,  so  I  was  left  pretty  much 
to  myself,  and  was  not  embarrassed  in  the  selection  of 
amusements,  by  any  one's  suggestions. 

Thrown  thus  upon  my  own  resources,  I  looked  around 
for  something  to  interest  and  occupy  my  mind,  and  I 


AT  THE  COENEE.  233 

found  this  object  of  interest  in  a  girl  whom  I  met  reg 
ularly  every  morning  at  the  corner  yonder,  where  my 
present  little  friend  disappears  on  her  way  to  school. 

The  figure  of  the  maiden  of  old  times  was  not  unlike 
my  little  friend's  to-day ;  but  the  former  one  was  much 
less  gaily  clad ;  her  face  was  covered  with  a  green  veil, 
and  she  was  older — about  seventeen. 

Eegularly  every  morning,  after  breakfast,  as  I  went  to 
Wopper  &  Son's  with  the  punctuality  of  a  clock,  I  met 
my  friend  coming  round  this  corner,  and  the  encounter 
became  an  expected  pleasure,  which  I  could  not  forego. 
I  knew  nothing  of  the  girl,  except  that  she,  doubtless, 
liked  blue  tints,  which  everywhere  appeared  in  her  cheap 
and  simple  clothing.  She  generally  walked  with  her 
head  down,  conning  a  school-book  which  she  held  be 
neath  her  green  veil,  and  for  some  time  she  never 
encountered  my  eyes  with  her  own. 

At  last,  as  we  went  by  each  other  at  the  same  hour 
every  morning,  and  as  my  dress  was  seldom  altered  in 
those  days,  she  noticed  me,  and  we  would  exchange 
looks.  Then  I  saw  her,  with  her  veil  raised,  come 
around  the  corner  looking  for  my  familiar  figure,  then 
we  exchanged  glances  of  half  recognition. 

Things  had  reached  this  stage,  when,  one  day,  as  I 
was  coming  up  to  dinner,  and  just  as  I  was  crossing  the 
street,  half-way  down  the  square  yonder,  by  the  little 
wooden  house,  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  scream  ; 
I  raised  my  head  quickly,  and  at  the  same  moment  saw 
the  breast  of  a  horse  strike  the  form  of  a  girl  within  two 
paces  of  me.  I  was  an  active  young  fellow  then,  and 


234  ANKIE  AT  THE  CORKER. 

with,  a  single  motion  of  niy  hand  caught  the  animal  by 
the  bit,  forced  his  foaming  mouth  backward,  and  with 
the  other  arm  supported  the  girl,  who  was  near  fainting. 
The  horse  was  ridden  by  an  urchin  who  could  not 
manage  him,  and  galloping  down  the  street  he  had 
nearly  crushed  the  girl. 

She  now  half  leaned  upon  my  arm  in  an  attitude  of 
terror  and  weakness,  and  a  glance  at  her  countenance 
told  me  that  she  was  my  friend  of  the  corner.  I  need 
not  say  that  the  circumstance  did  not  displease  me ;  and 
when  she  came  to  understand  that  her  deliverer,  as  the 
romance  writers  say,  was  the  owner  of  the  face  so  familiar 
to  her,  too,  I  don't  think  she  was  less  pleased  than 
myself. 

I  asked  where  she  lived  ;  and  she  replied,  in  a  hurried 
and  timid  tone,  that  the  little  wooden  house  you  see 
yonder  was  her  mother's,  and  that  she  was  returning 
thither  from  school.  I  offered  her  my  arm  with  that 
simplicity  and  sincere  respect  which  sprung  then,  as  it 
springs  now,  from  my  admiration  for  a  pure  woman, 
young  or  old ;  and,  leaning  upon  the  arm,  the  girl 
reached  her  mother's,  and,  in  the  same  timid  tone,  asked 
me  to  enter. 

I  was  very  glad  to  obey,  and  found  myself  in  a  small 
apartment,  very  poorly  and  cheaply  furnished,  but  with 
an  air  of  respectability  and  neatness  about  it,  which 
indicated  taste  and  refinement  in  the  occupants.  In  one 
corner  sat  an  old  lady  in  a  black  bombazine  dress,  busily 
knitting,  which  operation  she  followed  with  eyes  covered 
with  large  spectacles. 


AT  THE   CORNER.  235 

The  old  lady  looked  very  much  frightened  when  the 
girl  related  her  adventure  ;  and  the  expression  of  grati 
tude  upon  her  thin  countenance,  when  my  part  was 
described,  remains  with  me  even  now  as  one  of  my  most 
delightful  recollections. 

I  will  not  lengthen  out  the  description  of  this  scene, 
when,  for  the  first  time,  I  made  the  "  speaking  acquaint 
ance  "  of  Annie  Claston.  Her  mother  was  the  widow  of 
a  poor  clergyman,  and  managed,  as  I  afterwards  learned, 
by  close  and  rigid  labor  and  economy,  to  supply  the 
wants  of  the  little  household  and  send  Annie  to  school. 
The  girl  had  protested,  almost  with  tears,  against  this, 
declaring  that  she  was  old  enough  to  help  her  mother 
and  not  be  a  burden  ;  but  the  old  lady  still  preserved  her 
ideas  about  training  and  education,  and  Annie  was  forced 
to  submit. 

The  acquaintance  thus  auspiciously  commenced  was 
not  suffered  to  languish.  More  than  ever,  I  had  an 
object  of  interest  to  occupy  my  thoughts,  and  soon  it 
began  to  occupy  my  heart.  I  now  looked  more  eagerly 
than  ever  to  see  Annie  at  the  corner  ;  and  I  think  I  may 
add  that  judging  from  the  bright  expression  of  her 
countenance,  she  was  also  pleased  at  our  meetings.  We 
generally  paused  a  moment  to  exchange  a  clasp  of  the 
hand  and  a  few  words  and  smiles,  and  then  we  passed 
on.  I  do  not  know  that  she  thought  of  me  again  until 
we  met  next  morning ;  but  I  am  very  certain  that  her 
image  never  left  my  thoughts  for  fifteen  consecutive 
minutes  throughout  the  day.  Old  Wopper,  more  than 
once,  had  occasion  to  ask  me  if  I  was  asleep,  and 


236  AKNIE  AT  THE  CORSTER. 

whether  the  pile  of  goods  would  be  shipped  if  I  only 
stared  them  out  of  countenance;  and  I  think,  if  my 
imagination  had  been  a  photographic  medium,  the 
ledgers  of  the  firm  would  have  been  covered  with  ten 
thousand  pictures  of  a  young  girl  in  a  blue  dress,  with 
curls  on  her  neck.  These  pictures  would  have  pleased 
most  persons  more  than  the  entries  ;  and  this  introduces 
a  brief  outline  of  Annie. 

She  had  deep  blue  eyes,  brown  hair,  a  complexion  as 
white  as  snow,  and  lips  as  crimson  as  carnations — I  have 
never  seen  any  so  red.  A  delicate  pale  rose  tint  touched 
the  centre  of  each  cheek,  and  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  was  the  perfection  of  modesty.  Look  !  here 
is  her  miniature,  taken  long  afterwards  from  a  pencil 
sketch  I  made,  and  the  likeness  is  excellent.  Now  that 
you  see  I  have  not  painted  a  figure  of  my  imagination,  I 
will  proceed. 

A  few  days  after  the  accident  I  called  one  evening, 
with  a  beating  heart,  at  Annie's  mother's — with  a  beating 
heart,  I  say,  for  those  "long,  long  thoughts,"  as  the 
poet  says,  and  our  regular  meetings  had  suddenly,  in  a 
single  night,  as  it  were,  blossomed  into  love. 

I  was  warmly  received  by  mother  and  daughter,  who 
with  the  simplicity  and  confiding  sincerity  of  elevated 
nature,  did  not  doubt  for  an  instant  that  I  was  what  I 
seemed.  I  spent  an  evening,  every  moment  of  which 
appeared  to  me  a  separate  and  perfect  world  of  happiness, 
and  when  I  returned  to  my  poor  chamber  I  leaned  my 
head  upon  my  hand,  and  remained  lost  in  thought  for  an 
hour,  and  when  I  lay  down  I  dreamed  of  her,  and  woke 


AT  THE  CORVEE.  237 

thinking  of  the  girl,  and  trying  to  ask  God  to  bless  and 
protect  her.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  that  prayer,  friend  of 
years,  and  do  not  doubt  that  it  rose  to  the  throne  of  the 
Almighty.  Let  what  will  happen — let  things  look  as 
they  may — I  bow  my  head  and  submit  myself,  as  a  child, 
to  Him  who  rules  us,  and  sends  the  sunshine  or  the 
storm,  as  He  wills. 

I  will  not  lengthen  out  this  portion  of  my  brief  story 
either,  but  get  on  to  the  end  of  it.  For  some  months  I 
continued  to  visit  Annie,  almost  every  evening  now ;  and 
as  I  met  her  as  of  old,  at  the  corner  yonder,  her  beauty 
and  goodness  filled  my  life,  as  it  were,  and  riveted  those 
chains  which  her  loveliness  and  purity  had  bound  me 
with.  I  loved  her  with  all  the  deep  and  earnest  passion 
of  my  nature,  and  she  saw  that  I  did,  and  was  too  inno 
cent  and  destitute  of  art  to  feign  indifference.  I  had,  at 
the  end  of  the  time  I  have  mentioned,  the  unspeakable 
happiness  of  knowing  that  I  was  as  dear  to  her  as  she 
was  to  me ;  and  now,  looking  back  through  a  life  of 
many  decades,  I  recall  no  sensation  approaching  in  bliss 
ful  intensity  of  happiness  that  first  throb  of  rapture,  upon 
finding  that  the  lovely  and  pure-hearted  girl  had  dowered 
me  with  the  whole  affection  of  her  nature.  I  think  God 
gives  us  on  this  earth  few  purer  or  happier  emotions,  and 
I  humbly  thank  Him  for  this  gift  to  me,  His  unworthy 
creature. 

I  was  Annie's  accepted  lover. 


238  ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER. 


CHAPTER    III. 


TWO  EIVALS. 

WITH  the  exception  of  three  or  four  elderly  ladies 
of  the  neighborhood,  reduced  in  circumstances, 
like  Mrs.  Claston,  no  one  visited  at  the  house  to  which  I 
so  regularly  bent  my  way,  but  a  young  man  named  Lack 
land. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy  merchant,  who  had  form 
erly  been  a  parishioner  of  Annie's  father,  in  the  country, 
and  his  acquaintance  with  the  young  girl  had  commenced 
accidentally  at  a  small  evening  party  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  Lackland  was  about  my  own  age,  and  might  have 
been  called  handsome,  but  for  the  weak  and  irresolute 
expression  of  his  lips,  and  the  lurking  and  uneasy  glance 
of  his  eye — characteristics  which  he  vainly  tried  to  con 
ceal  beneath  a  laughing  and  careless  manner. 

From  the  first  moment  of  his  meeting  with  Annie,  he 
fell  in  love  with  her,  as  completely  as  was  possible  with 
him ;  and  as  his  father's  wealth  was  placed,  in  a  great 
measure,  at  his  disposal,  he  understood  the  advantage 
which  the  circumstance  gave  him,  and  used  it. 


ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER.  239 

I  will  tell  yon  in  a  moment  how  he  managed  to  impress 
upon  the  young  girl  the  possession  by  himself  of  exactly 
what  I  lacked — an  abundance  of  money.  I  will  say  first, 
that  the  young  man  dressed  in  the  most  splendid  fashion; 
that  his  equipage  was  in  the  finest  taste,  and  that  every 
trait  of  his  manner,  down  to  the  most  unconscious  move 
ment,  showed  that  he  was  accustomed  to  the  highest  and 
most  fashionable  society. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  advance  in  the  opinion  of 
Annie,  or  her  mother,  and  I  had,  what  to  a  lover  is  the 
profoundest  pleasure — the  conviction  that  a  moment  of 
my  society  was  more  valued  by  Annie  than  an  hour  of 
his. 

The  wealthy  young  lover  affected  not  to  understand 
this,  although  it  was  plain  to  the  commonest  apprehen 
sion,  I  thought.  In  spite  of  everything  he  did  not  seem 
to  understand  that  his  visits  were  unwelcome,  and  per 
sisted  in  frequently  coming  in  the  evenings,  in  spite  of 
his  cool  reception.  On  these  occasions  he  bowed  with  an 
easy  air ;  saluted  me,  when  I  was  present,  with  friendly 
familiarity,  and  sat  down,  playing  with  his  hat  and  smil 
ing.  It  was  impossible  for  Annie  to  treat  any  one  dis 
courteously,  and  though  she  had  taken  a  dislike  almost 
to  Mr.  Lackland,  she  did  not  betray  this  impression,  but 
met  all  his  advances  with  the  most  perfect  and  maidenly 
courtesy,  but  nothing  more.  I  have  never  seen  a  more 
perfect  exhibition  of  what  is  called  the  "high-bred  air," 
than  that  of  the  girl  on  these  occasions,  and  Lackland 
seemed  to  think  as  I  did,  that  any  man  might  be  proud 
of  such  a  wife. 


240  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

The  visits  of  the  young  man  were  continued  as  regu 
larly  after  our  engagement  as  before,  and  he  had  for  some 
time  been  sending  Annie  very  handsome  presents,  anon 
ymously,  and  in  such  a  way  that  they  could  not  be  re 
turned  but  just  with  that  transparent  veil  thrown  over 
them  which  the  eye  easily  pierced. 

One  evening  a  servant  handed  to  the  maid  at  the  door 
a  small  box,  and  then  disappeared  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  or  leaving  any  gentleman's  name.  The  box  was 
succinctly  addressed  to  "Miss  Annie  Claston,"  and  con 
tained  a  pair  of  magnificent  bracelets. 

When  I  came  Annie  showed  me  the  jewels,  and  I  at 
once  recognized  them,  having  seen  Lackland  purchase 
them  that  morning  at  White's.  The  young  lady  asked 
me  to  advise  her  what  to  do,  as  she  was  convinced  that 
Mr.  Lackland  had  sent  them.  I  did  not  mention  my 
meeting  with  him,  and  felt  unpleasantly  about  it.  I 
begged  her  not  to  give  herself  any  annoyance,  that  I 
would  return  them,  frankly  informing  Mr.  Lackland  of 
her  disinclination ;  and  on  the  next  morning  I  did  so. 

I  met  my  gentleman  coming  out  of  the  Club,  whither 
I  had  gone  to  seek  him,  and  handing  him  the  box,  said 
that  Miss  Claston  had  commissioned  me  to  thank  him, 
but  to  beg  him  to  receive  back  the  jewels. 

"Jewels!"  said  the  young  man,  swinging  his  ivory- 
headed  cane,  and  holding  his  other  hand  behind  his 
back,  "what  can  you  mean,  my  dear  fellow  ?" 

"In  the  present  instance,  jewels  means  'bracelets,  Mr. 
Lackland,"  I  replied  calmly. 

"Bracelets  !"  he  returned,  with  an  air  of  surprise. 


ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER.  241 

"  Yes,  sir,  bracelets  which  you  sent  to  Miss  Claston  last 
evening. " 

"II"  he  repeated  in  the  same  tone,  " really,  you  are 
going  too  fast,  sir." 

I  think,  Mr.  Lackland,  I  move  at  a  pace  exactly  in  ac 
cordance  with  my  calling,  which  is  that  of  a  mercantile 
clerk.  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  the  counting-house,  and 
my  time  is  valuable.  I  beg  to  repeat,  that  Miss  Claston 
has  commissioned  me  to  thank  you  for  these  jewels,  but 
begs  that  you  will  pardon  her  for  returning  them." 

The  irresolute  and  uneasy  expression  came  to  his  face, 
and  mingled  itself  with  the  irritation. 

"Really,  sir!"  he  said;  "I  am  subjected  to  actual 
persecution.  You  wish  to  force  me  to  receive  back  what 
I  never  sent." 

"  Mr.  Lackland ! "  I  said,  profoundly  astonished  at 
this  falsehood. 

"Sir!"  he  said,  stiffly. 

"You  will  pardon  me,"  I  said  satirically,  "but  I  saw 
you  purchase  these  very  jewels  yesterday  morning  at 
White's.  Doubtless  the  circumstance  has  escaped  your 
recollection." 

His  face  turned  crimson  as  I  spoke,  and  an  angry  flash 
shot  from  his  eyes. 

"Well,  sir!"  he  said  angrily,  "you  seem  to  make  it 
your  business  to  keep  watch  over  my  movements  !  Sup 
pose  I  did  send  that  box,  and  suppose  I  did  wish  to  con 
ceal  my  agency  in  sending  it — what  concern  is  it  of 
yours,  sir?" 

"I  choose  to  make  it  my  concern,  sir,"  I  replied 


242  ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER. 

coldly,  "  and  if  you  address  another  observation  to  me  in 
that  tone,  you  shall  answer  it  elsewhere." 

I  never  knew  before  that  he  was  a  coward.  His  cheek 
blanched,  his  eyes  lowered  themselves  before  my  angry 
glance,  and  he  did  not  reply. 

"Mr.  Lackland,"  I  said,  "I  regret  that  this  conversa 
tion  should  have  taken  a  turn  so  unpleasant.  I  have  not 
the  least  desire  to  quarrel  with  you,  sir,  and  wish  simply 
to  discharge  the  commission  which  I  have  undertaken,  as 
a  friend  of  Miss  Claston.  She  begs  to  thank  you  for  this 
gift,  but  can  not  receive  it,  and  I  now  return  it." 

With  these  words  I  placed  the  box  in  Lackland's  hand, 
and  bowed  and  left  him.  From  that  moment,  as  I 
knew  afterwards,  he  hated  me  with  all  the  bitterness  and 
malice  of  a  small  and  cunning  nature.  You  will  see  how 
his  hatred  developed  itself. 


ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER.  243 


CHAPTER    IV. 


PARTING. 

ANNIE  and  myself  had  entered  into  our  engage 
ment  with  that  thoughtless  precipitancy  of  youth 
which  older  and  wiser  heads  visit  with  so  much  reproba 
tion.  My  salary  was  entirely  insufficient  for  the  com 
fortable  support  of  two  persons  united  in  the  holy  bonds 
of  matrimony,  and,  after  long  and  sad  discussions  upon 
the  subject,  it  was  the  conclusion  of  the  little  household 
that  we  must  wait  for  happier  times. 

Long  engagements  are  a  great  evil ;  and  they  should,  I 
think,  be  avoided,  if  possible,  in  all  cases.  To  see  the 
phantom  of  married  happiness  constantly  fly  before  you, 
eluding  your  grasp,  and  laughing  pitilessly  at  your 
despair — this  is  sufficiently  saddening.  But  there  is  the 
further  consideration  of  the  young  lady's  position.  The 
knowledge  of  her  engagement  on  the  part  of  her  asso 
ciates  is  more  or  less  embarrassing,  and  I  have  known 
many  gentlemen  who  declared  it  impossible  to  enjoy  the 
society  of  such  a  lady — "talking  to  you  at  random,  and 
looking  over  your  shoulder  at  her  intended."  It  is  true 
Annie  did  not  give  a  thought  to  this,  and  she  declared 


244  ASTXIE   AT  THE   COKNER. 

her  willingness  to  wait  just  as  long  as  she  lived ;  but  alto 
gether  it  was  disheartening. 

Just  when  we  had  arrived  finally  at  the  conclusion  that 
we  must  wait,  and  that  I  must  look  around  for  some  im 
provement  in  my  situation,,  I  was  one  morning  accosted 
by  an  old  merchant  who  had  professed  a  great  friendship 
for  me,  and  informed  that  he  had  a  proposal  to  make  me. 
He  soon  unfolded  his  idea :  it  was  that  I  should  go  to 
Rio  de  Janeiro  for  a  year  or  two,  and  act  as  his  mercantile 
correspondent;  and  he  supported  his  proposition  by 
offering  me  just  thrice  the  salary  which  I  then  received. 
He  would  give  me  a  week  to  think  of  it,  he  said,  and 
then  we  parted. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  this  proposition  was  the  sub 
ject  of  the  most  anxious  consideration  to  me  throughout 
the  week,  for  the  idea  of  leaving  Annie  nearly  unmanned 
me  and  paralyzed  my  resolution.  The  dear  girl  saw  the 
struggle  in  my  breast,  and  understood  perfectly  that  she 
was  the  obstacle  in  the  way.  She  besought  me  not  to 
refuse — that,  great  as  her  distress  would  be  to  part  with 
me,  it  would  distress  her  still  more  to  reflect  that  she 
embarrassed  my  movements  and  clogged  my  advances 
toward  prosperity ;  and  she  added  that  I  need  not  be  un 
easy  about  them  at  home,  for  they  were  now  very  com 
fortable.  Mrs.  Claston  urged  the  very  same  views. 

It  was  not  until  Annie  and  myself  were  alone,  that 
leaning  her  lovely  head  upon  my  shoulder,  she  cried,  and 
said  she  would  remain  " mine  in  life  and  death."  I  re 
collected  these  words  afterwards. 

Well,  not  to  lengthen  out  my  story,  at  the  end  of  the 


AKNTE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

week  I  accepted  the  offer  of  my  friend  Mr.  Aiken ;  and 
having  made  every  arrangement  with  the  house  where  I 
had  been  employed,  I  sailed  in  a  month. 

I  went  on  shipboard  one  night;  and  thus  remained 
with  Annie  and  her  mother  all  the  evening.  J  recall  that 
evening  now  perfectly ;  and  especially  the  crimson  sunset 
flooding  the  trees  of  the  square  yonder,  from  whose 
summits  crowns  of  gold  seemed  gradually  lifted  by  the 
fingers  of  the  night.  Mrs.  Claston  was  a  little  indis 
posed,  and  I  took  leave  of  her  in  her  chamber — receiving 
with  tears  almost  that  blessing  which  she  gave  me,  laying 
her  thin  white  hand  on  my  head,  as  I  kneeled  beside  her. 
The  storms  of  many  years  have  beaten  upon  my  brow, 
and  changed  to  gray  my  raven  hair,  or  swept  it  away, 
but  still  the  touch  of  that  pale  thin  hand  of  the  pure 
lady  is  on  my  brow,  and  I  kneel  before  her  once  more 
on  that  night  of  parting. 

Annie  and  myself  lingered  long  in  the  little  parlor  I 
need  not  say ;  and  the  golden  crowns  all  disappeared  from 
the  fringed  summits  of  the  elms  before  we  parted.  It 
was  not  "in  one  blind  cry  of  passion  and  of  pain" — but 
it  went  near  to  unman  me.  Those  caresses  and  endear 
ments  which  are  the  language  of  lovers,  and  have  there 
fore  been  derided  by  the  cold  and  stupid  world  which 
does  not  know  that  God  has  given  them  to  His  creatures 
to  express  the  depth  of  pure  and  holy  love — those  falter 
ing  words  and  tearful  pressures  of  the  hand  which  say 
so  much,  were  a  thousand  times  ended  and  renewed ;  and 
then  the  end  came. 

Annie  wrung  her  hands,  and  like  a  fearful  child  fol- 


246  ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER. 

lowed  me  to  the  door.  It  was  nearly  dark,  and  I  must 
go.  I  turned  to  take  leave  of  her  again — but  throwing 
a  handkerchief  over  her  head,  which  made  her  counte 
nance  resemble  a  Madonna's  weeping,  she  drew  me  toward 
the  corner,  some  steps  distant  only  as  you  see,  there  to 
bid  me  farewell. 

I  had  there  first  met  with  her — there  she  had  seen  me, 
too,  for  the  first  time.  As  our  eyes  now  met  in  a  long, 
long  look,  the  whole  past  rose  up  again,  and  condensed 
itself  into  a  moment — a  moment  crammed  with  love  and 
happiness,  the  recollection  of  which  threw  a  glory  almost 
over  the  canopy  of  night. 

And  there  at  the  old  corner  we  parted — a  long  em 
brace;  smiles  breaking  through  tears  in  the  eyes  of  a 
man  and  a  woman — that  was  the  spectacle  which  the 
friendly  stars  beheld. 

Annie  went  back,  crying,  and  I  continued  my  way  to 
the  wharf  and  embarked.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  the 
sun  was  rising  over  the  Atlantic.  But  I  saw  nothing  but 
the  figure  of  the  maiden — I  felt  nothing  but  the  sweet 
agony,  the  bitter  pleasure  of  that  parting. 

It  is  well  that  I  looked  back  instead  of  forward :  but 
let  me  proceed  in  sequence. 


AT  THE  COBtfEB.  247 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE 


I  WAS  reading,  the  other  day,  a  book  which  has 
been  much  spoken  of  in  Europe  —  the  story  of  a 
poor,  lost  girl,  from  the  dark  gulf  of  whose  nature,  full 
of  woful  depravity  and  misery  eating  into  her  heart  like 
a  cankerworm,  a  flower  of  innocent  love  springs  np,  and 
purifies  her,  smoothing  her  dying  pillow.  I  thought  at 
first  that  the  work  was  a  fiction  ;  but  it  was  too  strange. 

Only  the  thoughtless  and  unobservant  will  consider 
what  I  have  said  a  paradox.  We  do  not  get  atfact  any 
where,  because  it  wraps  itself  in  the  triple  folds  of  self- 
esteem,  reserve,  and  fear  ;  and  thus,  seeing  only  the  out 
side  of  life,  some  persons  think  that  it  is  new,  prosaic, 
and  commonplace,  and  that  all  the  tragedies  are  attribu 
table  solely  to  the  vivid  imagination  of  dramatists  and 
romancers. 

I  know  family  histories  which  I  would  not  dare  to 
relate  in  their  naked,  simple  details,  though  the  scene 
were  laid  in  another  land  and  the  names  changed,  for 
the  majority  of  my  listeners  would  declare  me  crazy.  I 
know  histories  of  individuals  which  I  could  verify  step 
by  step,  incident  by  incident,  from  yellow  and  moth- 


248  ANKIE  AT  THE   COKtfER. 

eaten  letters  and  papers,  which  histories  the  world 
would  no  more  believe,  than  they  would  the  existence  of 
devils  in  a  man  of  this  century.  They  would  rather  say 
that  I  forged  the  papers,  than  credit  what  would  make 
their  hair  stand  on  end.  But  I  am  wandering  from  my 
story,  which  is  not  quite  so  terrible  as  some  others,  my 
dear  friend,  though,  at  the  time,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
woful  tragedy  and  despair  had  touched  its  climax. 

I  remained  in  Rio  de  Janeiro  for  three  years ;  and  at 
the  end  of  that  time  set  sail  homeward,  with  the  satis 
factory  feeling  that  I  possessed  what  was  amply  sufficient 
to  enable  Annie  and  myself  to  commence  house-keeping. 
My  delight,  as  I  approached  the  friendly  shores  of  my 
native  land,  was  even  increased  by  the  fact  that  I  had 
not  received  one  line  from  home  for  more  than  a  year ; 
and  while  the  explanation  of  this  lay  simply  in  the  fact 
that  the  ocean  mails  were  very  irregular,  I  had  often  felt 
a  sort  of  foreboding,  such  as  most  persons  experience 
when  they  love  deeply.  At  such  times  we  fear  that  such 
an  immensity  of  happiness  as  we  dream  of  can  not  be 
unmixed,  even  if  it  exist :  the  heart  doubts,  however 
powerfully  the  mind  reasons  against  these  doubts ;  and 
we  wait,  in  trembling  suspense,  the  sight  of  the  familiar 
shores,  the  old  mansion,  the  beloved  face. 

Thus,  while  I  experienced  the  most  exquisite  delight 
as  I  saw  the  well-known  rows  of  buildings  and  discerned 
many  familiar  forms  upon  the  wharf,  I  waited  with 
anxious  expectation  for  the  moment  when  I  should  re 
cognize  a  building  more  familiar  still,  a  face  more  dear 
to  me  than  all  the  world. 


AT  THE   CORKER.  249 

Ten  minutes  after  entering  the  hotel,  and  after  throw 
ing  merely  a  passing  glance  at  my  brown  face  and  long, 
black  mustache  in  the  mirror,  I  was  at  the  door  of  the 
little  wooden  house  yonder.  Everything  was  just  as  I 
had  left  it — the  honeysuckle  blossomed  on  the  porch,  as 
it  did  on  that  evening  in  June  when  I  parted  with  An 
nie  ;  a  pigeon  or  two  circled  in  the  golden  atmosphere, 
or  lit  upon  the  roof ;  even  the  curtain  at  the  window  of 
the  little  parlor,  from  behind  which  Annie  watched  with 
tender  eyes,  as  I  left  her  every  evening,  was  still  there ; 
the  trees,  lastly,  of  the  beautiful  square  rustled  in  the 
warm  breath  of  the  summer  evening,  and  on  their  im 
perial  summits  the  same  crowns  of  gold  were  slowly  lifted 
by  the  dusky  fingers  of  the  twilight.  Every  object,  every 
ray,  every  shadow,  every  odor — there  was  nothing  that 
did  not  speak  eloquently  of  Annie ;  and  leaning  for  an 
instant  against  one  of  the  white  pillars,  I  placed  a  hand 
upon  my  heart  to  still  its  throbbing.  I  look  back  now 
on  the  figure  of  myself,  standing  there  on  the  very 
threshold  of  my  fate,  and  almost  feel  again  what  I  felt 
soon  after. 

A  strange  servant  came  to  the  door.  Was  Mrs. 
Claston  or  Miss  Annie  at  home  ?  —  Sir  ?  Was  Mrs. 
Claston  at  homo  ?  I  repeated  ;  if  so,  tell  her  that  a 
friend  had  come  to  see  her.  The  reply  was  that  Mrs. 
Claston  did  not  live  there,  but  she  would  see.  The  maid 
went  and  told  her  master,  who  came  at  once  and  invited 
me  in.  I  entered  the  little  parlor,  and,  for  a  moment, 
thought  the  beating  of  my  heart  would  alarm  the  host. 
He  did  not  seem  to  observe  my  agitation,  however — he 


250  ANNIE   AT   THE   CORNER. 

was  a  fat,  good-lmmored  old  gentleman,  not  given  to 
imaginative  exertions — but  in  a  polite  and  smiling  fash 
ion  invited  me  to  be  seated. 

I  sat  down  ;  and  again  my  eyes  made  the  circuit  of  the 
apartment,  whose  mantel-piece,  cornice,  wainscoting,  and 
curtain,  brought  vividly  back  the  old  days  with  Annie. 
With  Annie  ! — yes,  with  Annie  !  I  was  losing  time — and 
I  turned  to  my  host. 

The  information  which  he  conveyed  to  me,  was  briefly 
as  follows  :  Mrs.  Claston  had  been  dead  for  a  year,  and 
he  had  understood  that  her  daughter  had  gone  to  live 
with  an  aunt  at  the  other  end  of  the  city,  whose  name  he 
had  heard  but  did  not  remember.  "Was  Mrs.  Claston  a 
friend  of  mine  ?  He  was  ^extremely  sorry  to  have  uttered 
what  seemed  to  distress  me  so  much. 

And,  seeing  me  almost  unmanned  by  the  distressing 
intelligence  he  communicated,  the  kind  old  gentleman 
bustled  out  and  returned  with  some  wine,  which  he 
forced  upon  me.  I  touched  the  glass  only  to  my  lips, 
and,  thanking  him,  rose  to  go.  He  suddenly  called  me 
back  as  my  foot  touched  the  threshold,  and  said  that  he 
now  remembered  the  name  of  the  lady  with  whom  Mrs. 
Claston's  daughter  went  to  live — Mrs.  Peters.  I  thanked 
him  again  and  took  my  departure,  leaving,  with  slow 
steps  and  a  heavy  heart,  that  house  in  which  I  had  been 
so  happy.  I  had  thus  lost  one  most  dear  to  me :  that 
blessing,  as  I  knelt  by  her,  was  to  be  an  eternal  one, 
never  to  be  renewed;  beyond  the  stars  of  the  bright 
evening,  the  white  face  shone  with  the  glories  of  heaven. 
The  kind,  pure  lady  was  gone,  but  she  had  left  me  a 


ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER.  251 

priceless  consolation  in  Annie.  As  I  thought  of  the  girl, 
my  heart  throbbed  and  my  cheek  glowed — from  death  I 
returned  to  life. 

I  went  to  a  shop  and  asked  for  a  directory;  I  had 
known  the  man,  but  he  did  not  recognize  me,  with  my 
hair  crisped  by  the  tropical  sun,  my  cheeks  burned  of  a 
deep  brown,  and  my  lips  covered  with  a  long,  black  mus 
tache.  I  easily  found  the  address  of  Mrs.  Peters,  and 
thanking  the  man,  who  said  I  was  very  welcome,  and  I 
thought  gazed  curiously  at  my  foreign  dress,  I  walked 
rapidly  away. 

I  preferred  walking,  as  the  exertion  was  some  relief  to 
my  overburdened  feelings — feelings  oscillating  like  a 
pendulum,  uneasily,  between  gloom  and  delight,  between 
hope  and  fear. 


252-  AKNIE  AT  THE  CORKER. 


CHAPTEE    VI. 


A    WOMAK, 

I  HAD  gone  two  or  three  squares,  and  was  crossing 
the  street,  when  a  carriage,  drawn  by  two  splendid 
horses,  with  a  driver  and  footman  in  livery,  passed 
rapidly  before  me ;  and  as  the  brilliant  equipage  flashed 
on,  enveloping  my  person  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  I  distinctly 
perceived,  framed  as  it  were  in  the  velvet-edged  opening, 
the  face  of  Annie. 

I  stood  gazing  after  the  carriage,  which  disappeared 
around  a  corner,  with  an  expression  upon  my  counte 
nance,  I  am  sure,  of  perfect  stupefaction.  Then  I  had 
found  the  person  I  was  hastening  to  meet  and  clasp  to 
my  bosom  with  a  hundred  kisses.  I  had  found  the  An 
nie  of  old  days,  of  the  humble  dwelling,  of  the  timid  and 
modest  existence,  returning  as  it  were,  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  old  elms  which  threw  their  wide  arms 
above  the  humble  roof — this  Annie  of  my  heart  and  my 
dreams,  I  had  found  in  the  splendidly  dressed  woman, 
glittering  with  jewels  and  satin  and  lace,  and  darting 
onward  like  a  meteor  in  the  downy  velvet  of  a  splendid 
chariot,  which  scattered  dust  upon  me  as  I  stood,  within 
two  paces,  unrecognized. 


AT  THE   COKHER.  253 

I  was  not  seen,  it  is  true ;  but  had  I  been  seen,  would 
I  have  been  recognized  ?  I  was  simply  a  sunburnt 
stranger — a  pedestrian  who  looked  at  a  fine  carriage  as  it 
passed.  Had  the  world  turned  from  east  to  west,  or  was 
I  insane  or  dreaming  ? 

Then  the  face  of  Annie,  as  she  passed,  rose  before  me 
again;  I  thought  she  looked  pale  beneath  the  load  of 
flowers  above  her  brow — she  looked  sad  in  the  midst  of 
this  splendor.  "What  did  it  mean  ? 

There  was  an  easy  solution.  I  should  doubtless  know 
all  from  Mrs.  Peters,  whose  carriage  she  probably  used. 
I  had  heard  of  this  lady,  the  sister  of  Annie's  father, 
long  a  widow — and,  as  well  as  I  could  remember,  not 
much  had  been  uttered  in  her  praise.  Well,  we  would 
see.  And  I  set  forward  rapidly  again  toward  the  house. 

I  found  it  at  last.  It  was  a  very  handsome  residence, 
the  front  door  approached  by  marble  steps,  with  an  orna 
mental  iron  railing.  I  ascended  and  knocked. 

A  servant  appeared,  and  I  bade  him  carry  my  card  to 
his  mistress,  and  say  that  I  desired  to  see  her. 

I  was  shown  into  a  magnificent  parlor,  in  which  every 
thing  was  overpoweringly  splendid  and  arranged  with  the 
primmest  elegance  ;  and  in  ten  minutes  a  rustling  of  silk 
upon  the  stairway  preluded  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Peters. 

She  entered,  and  inclined  her  head  stiffly.  She  was  a 
woman  of  about  fifty,  with  hard,  cold  features,  an  icy 
gray  eye,  and  the  heavy  double  chin  indicated  a  tendency 
towards  good  living. 

"You  wished  to  see  me,  sir?"  she  said,  coldly,  subsid 
ing  into  a  seat,  and  holding  the  tip  of  my  card,  as  if  she 


254  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

would  be  glad  to  toss  it,  as  one  does  a  worthless  piece  of 
pasteboard,  into  the  fire-place.  "Pray,  to  what  am  I 
indebted  for  the  honor  of  your  call  ?" 

I  saw  in  an  instant  this  woman  had  distinctly  made  up 
her  mind  to  oppose  and  overcome  me,  and  I  had  plainly 
nothing  to  expect  from  her  but  coldness,  perhaps  insult. 

"I  came,  madam,"  I  replied  calmly,  "to  see  a  friend 
of  mine." 

"Ah,  sir !"  she  said,  in  the  same  tone  of  coldness. 

"I  refer  to  Miss  Annie  Olaston,  who  is  a  yery  dear 
friend." 

"Of  yours,  sir?" 

And  barbed  with  the  deadliest  hauteur,  her  insult 
struck  me  full  in  front ;  but  I  only  grew  colder,  in  spite 
of  the  beating  of  my  heart. 

"  Of  mine,  madam,"  I  said,  calmly.  "  It  may  possibly 
astonish  you,  that  I,  a  poor  stranger — though  not,  I  per 
ceive,  a  complete  stranger  even  to  yourself — that  I  should 
speak  of  Miss  Claston  as  I  do.  But  what  I  have  said  is 
simply  the  truth,  and  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  all  at 
once  to  adopt  an  air  of  ceremony  in  speaking  of  one — I 
may  as  well  say — so  dear  to  me.  You  can  not  be  igno 
rant  of  the  relations  existing  between  myself  and  your 
niece — you  must  understand " 

"I  understand  nothing,  sir !"  she  said,  contracting  her 
brows  with  sudden  and  haughty  anger,  "  and  I  desire  that 
you  will  not  further  confide  to  me  your  private  affairs  ! " 

I  rose  from  my  seat  and  bowed,  a  movement  which  the 
lady  imitated,  in  a  manner  which  indicated  dismissal. 

"I  am   sorry  to  have  offended  Mrs.  Peters,"  I  said, 


ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER.  255 

with  a  flushed  cheek,  "but  I  have  at  least  the  satisfac 
tion,  in  leaving  her,  to  know  that  I  have  not  uttered  a 
single  word  which  could  be  construed  into  an  impro 
priety.  I  have  simply  said  that  Miss  Claston  occupies  a 
position  toward  myself  which  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
be  ignorant  of." 

"And  I  have  replied,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  flushing  like 
myself  with  indignant  fire,  "I  have  replied,  sir,  that  I 
understand  nothing." 

"Is  it  possible  that  Annie  has  not  told  you?"  I  said, 
coldly. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  terminate  this  interview, 
sir?" 

And  trembling  with  anger  and  disdain,  the  lady  delib 
erately  tossed  my  card  into  the  fire-place. 

"  I  shall  certainly  do  so  at  once,  madam,"  I  said,  with 
the  most  ceremonious  bow.  "  I  am  not  naturally  fond  of 
insults,  which  you  seem  to  take  pleasure  in  inflicting 
upon  an  unoffending  gentleman." 

My  coldness,  and  the  shadow  of  disdain  in  my  voice, 
must  have  profoundly  enraged  her;  for,  advancing  a 
step,  with  flashing  eyes,  the  folds  of  her  great  chin  swell 
ing  and  her  lips  quivering,  she  said  : 

"I  do  not  regard  you  as  a  gentleman — I  know  you 
perfectly  well,  sir,  and  I  see  in  you  only  the  individual 
who  attempted  to  take  advantage  of  the  unsuspecting 
innocence  of  my  niece,  in  order  to  inherit  my  property ! 
I  do  mean  to  insult  you,  sir !  If  Annie  had  married  you, 
she  might  have  starved  and  died  in  a  gutter,  before  I 
would  have  given  her  a  mouthful !  You  need  not  put  on 


256  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

that  air  of  a  great  lord,  sir  ! "  cried  the  furious  woman ; 
<s  that  is  what  she  would  have  come  to,  had  you  been 
successful  in  persuading  her  to  follow  your  beggarly  for 
tunes  !  You  practised  dishonorably  upon  her  feelings, 
and  inveigled  her  into  your  toils,  and  it  was  a  year  before 
I  could  do  away  the  effect  of  your  arts.  But  I  succeeded, 
sir ;  I  got  the  better  of  you.  She  confessed  that  you 
had  tricked  and  deceived  her — said  that  she  would  never 
again  think  of  you,  sir  !  And  I  now  inform  you,  for  your 
satisfaction,  that  my  niece  has  been  for  six  months  the 
wife  of  Mr.  Lackland." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  upon  my  bare  brow,  it  could 
scarcely  have  produced  a  more  terrible  effect  upon  me 
than  did  these  words.  I  staggered,  and  raised  my  hand 
to  my  eyes,  before  which  a  cloud  of  the  color  of  blood 
seemed  to  pass,  from  whose  folds  horrible  faces  peered 
at  me,  and  pointed  to  me  with  long,  bony  fingers  and 
diabolical  laughter.  I  gasped  for  breath;  my  bosom 
seemed  weighed  down  with  a  huge  load,  and  gigantic 
fingers  seemed  to  compress  my  choking  throat,  and  in 
ject  my  temples  with  burning  floods. 

In  the  midst  of  this  terrible  phantasmagoria — when  I 
was  still  oscillating  upon  my  feet — I  saw  indistinctly  the 
face  of  the  woman  who  had  struck  me  to  the  heart ;  and 
her  countenance  wore  an  expression  of  hateful  triumph, 
for  she  profoundly  detested  me  and  enjoyed  my  agony. 

But  she  was  nothing  to  me  now  at  all.  I  did  not  look 
at  her  again.  I  did  not  utter  another  word,  but,  putting 
on  my  hat,  went  away,  feeling  cold,  though  the  day  was 
warm. 


ANNIE  AT  THE  CORNER.  257 

I  remember  stopping  at  the  crossing  where  I  had  seen 
the  carriage  pass,  and  smiling  at  my  foolish  fancy,  that 
this  fine  lady  with  the  nodding  plumes  had  any  con 
nection  with  my  Annie — that  she  resembled  her.  I 
would  go  to  the  hotel  and  change  my  dusty  garments, 
and  before  the  golden  crowns  rose  from  the  summits  of 
the  trees,  would  clasp  to  my  heart  the  pure  and  faithful 
girl  and  her  dear  mother,  and  mine. 

I  hastened  on,  and  wondered  if  the  passers  by  suspected 
my  happiness  :  poor  creatures  ! 

Before  the  hotel  some  Italians  were  playing  on  hand- 
organs,  and  a  crowd  was  laughing  at  the  antics  of  some 
dancing  dogs.  I  had  time  to  look  at  them,  and  sitting 
down,  I  commenced  thrumming  with  my  fingers  and 
gazing  with  smiles  and  delight  at  the  merry  dogs. 

Five  minutes  afterwards  a  sort  of  cloud  swept  before 
my  eyes,  I  heard  a  loud  exclamation,  and  some  servants 
ran  to  me  and  lifted  me  from  the  pavement,  upon  which 
I  had  fallen  senseless. 

For  three  months  I  was  prostrated  by  brain  fever,  ac 
companied  by  delirium,  which  brought  me  to  the  brink 
of  the  grave. 


258  AtfNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE. 

ONCE,  when  I  was  travelling  in  Italy,  I  met,  be 
tween  Naples  and  Salerno,  a  woman  who  walked 
wearily  along  the  highway  and,  indeed,  seemed  scarcely 
able  to  get  out  of  the  track  of  my  horses.  She  was  old 
and  thin,  and  I  offered  her  a  seat  in  my  vehicle,  which 
she  accepted  with  a  sort  of  wonder. 

I  asked  her  where  she  was  going,  and  she  told  me  her 
history.  Her  husband,  sister,  father,  and  three  children, 
had  died,  within  ten  days  of  each  other,  a  month  before, 
and  she  was  going  to  Salerno,  to  try  and  get  employ 
ment. 

She  related  all  this  without  agitation,  and  scarcely 
sighing.  I  asked  her  how  she  had  been  able  to  forget  so 
soon — for,  you  know,  I  am  a  curious  student  of  human 
nature.  The  woman  looked  at  me  simply,  and  said,  in 
her  calm  voice:  "God  consoled  me.  My  loss  was  a 
blessing." 

" I  understand,"  I  said;  "but  these  pious  impressions 
might  have  been  made  upon  your  mind  without  this  im 
mense  misfortune." 


AT  THE   CORNER.  25 9 

I  shall  not  soon  forget  her  reply. 

"Signer/'  she  said,  looking  at  me  calmly,  "on  the 
blue  days  we  play,  and  sing,  and  keep  the  carnival.  It 
is  only  when  the  sirocco  burns  from  the  south  that  we 
feel  who  gives  us  the  flowering  laurels  and  the  cool 
breezes  of  the  sea." 

The  woman's  answer  touched  the  chord  of  memory, 
and  I  felt  that  we  had  gone  through  a  similar  ordeal. 

I  rose  from  my  sick  bed  entirely  changed,  and  I  trust 
that  my  life,  since  that  time,  though  not  so  useful  as  it 
might  have  been,  has  not  been  without  benefit  to  my 
species.  The  sirocco  had  burnt  into  my  very  soul,  and  I 
bowed  my  head  and  submitted  without  groaning,  after  a 
while — and  now  wait  for  the  hour  when  the  grass,  if  not 
the  laurels,  will  whisper  over  me. 

I  converted  my  small  savings  into  a  letter  of  credit, 
and  went  abroad — travelling  for  five  years  through 
Europe  and  the  East.  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  human 
nature,  I  think ;  for  I  mixed  with  peasants  and  nobles — 
the  high  and  the  low,  the  rich  and  the  poor — coming,  for 
all  my  pains,  to  the  final  and  most  rational  conclusion, 
that  humanity  is  much  the  same  in  every  land — that 
Giovanni  laughs  or  groans  under  much  the  same  in 
fluences  as  John ;  that  a  knot  of  ribbon  and  a  festival 
pleases  Lisette  in  Paris,  as  it  does  Betty  in  the  country 
here — that  it's  all  the  same  old  story. 

I  was  beginning  to  count  the  florins  in  my  purse  now, 
when,  one  day,  a  packet  with  a  red  seal  was  brought 
me,  by  a  servant  of  my  friend  the  consul's,  and  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  being  informed,  by  Israel  Jones,  attorney- 


260  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

at-law,  etc.,  etc.,  of  my  native  county,  that  I  was  sole 
legatee  of  my  respectable  uncle,  deceased,  who  had 
always  quarrelled  with  me,  and  that  the  estate  was  esti 
mated  to  be  worth  from  seventy-five  to  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  I  was  glad  to  hear  it,  and  as  I  had 
seen  enough  of  Europe,  I  thought  I  would  return  home, 
or  to  what  had  once  been  a  sort  of  home  to  me — to  the 
spot  where  I  had  been,  for  a  brief  season,  wholly,  com 
pletely,  supremely  happy.  The  song  says  truly,  that 
"'tis  home  where  the  heart  is";  and  I  was  just  as 
strongly  drawn  toward  the  old  place,  and  figure,  as 
when  I  sat  in  the  counting-house  at  Eio  de  Janeiro,  and 
sent  my  heart  across  the  seas  to  Annie,  praying  for  me 
in  another  land. 

Do  you  know  why  I  loved  her  ?  We  are  considering, 
let  us  say,  a  mere  series  of  events,  and,  therefore,  we  may 
philosophize.  My  unabated  love,  then,  for  this  woman, 
in  whom  I  had  implicitly  trusted,  and  who  had  broken 
my  heart,  sprung  from  the  fact,  that,  as  a  living  person, 
she  was  completely  dead  to  me.  As  far  as  I  was  con 
cerned  she  did  not  exist — she  was  mouldered  to  dust, 
beneath  a  piece  of  sward,  the  grass  waved  over  her.  It 
was  the  Annie  of  my  youth — for  when  I  returned  I  was 
already  growing  old — the  Annie  of  former  years  that  I 
loved.  Since  the  momentary  glance  which  I  had  caught, 
on  that  evening  as  she  passed  onward  in  her  carriage,  I 
had  never  laid  my  eyes  on  her ;  and  I  did  not  wish  to  see 
her.  All  was  broken  between  us — she  was  nothing  to 
me,  I  nothing  to  her;  we  went  different  ways — I  and 
Mrs.  Lackland. 


ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER.  261 

My  Annie  was  not  Mrs.  Lackland.  She  was  the  ever 
splendid  and  gracious  vision  of  my  youthful  dreams  and 
hopes — the  pure,  faithful  maiden,  .with  the  kind,  frank 
eyes,  holding  no  trace  of  guile.  My  Annie  never  could 
have  yielded  to  the  threats  of  a  hase  and  degraded  woman, 
and  broken  an  honest  heart  which  was  wrapped  up  in 
her — ruined  a  man  who  cared  nothing  for  life  without 
her  love.  Mrs.  Lackland  lived  in  a  splendid  house — my 
Annie  in  the  humhle  cottage  beneath  the  elms.  Mrs. 
Lackland  rode  in  an  elegant  carriage,  and  wore  satins, 
and  jewels,  and  birds  of  paradise — my  Annie  walked,  and 
was  clad  in  a  little  blue  dress  and  chip  hat.  Mrs.  Lack 
land  was  a  false  woman,  pining  in  magnificent  misery — 
the  Annie  of  my  memory  and  my  heart  was  an  angel, 
with  an  angel's  purity  and  happiness  in  her  azure  eyes. 
But  I  will  not  continue  this  dissection  of  my  heart — I 
will  proceed  with  my  story,  which  draws  to  an  end. 

The  five  years  of  my  second  absence  had  worked  greater 
changes  even  than  the  three  years  formerly — or  as  great. 
Every  familiar  face  seemed  to  have  disappeared  from  the 
scene — even  the  faces  of  those  who  had  wounded  rne  most 
cruelly ;  and  I  walked  alone,  not  even  encountering  ene 
mies — only  strangers. 

Lackland  the  elder  had  completely  failed  in  business, 
two  years  before,  and  I  soon  heard  had  wholly  impov 
erished  Mrs.  Peters,  who  sank  under  the  blow,  and  died, 
soon  afterwards,  of  apoplexy. 

Young  Lackland  had  become  the  slave  of  intemperance 
— had  treated  his  wife  with  notorious  cruelty,  and,  finally, 
the  father  and  son,  with  the  wife  of  the  latter,  had  disap- 


262  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

peared,  no  one  knew  where.  Thus  every  face  was  gone — 
I  had  not  even  a  successful  rival  to  welcome  me.  I  went 
to  the  little  house,  and  found  a  new  tenant,  who  stared 
at  me,  and  evidently  thought  me  a  suspicious  character, 
when  I  looked  around  the  walls  of  the  little  parlor  and 
sighed  wearily. 

I  asked  the  name  of  the  owner  of  the  house,  and,  on 
the  next  morning,  purchased  it.  Three  months  after 
wards,  I  occupied  the  house  myself. 

I  will  not  pause  to  speak  of  the  bitter  pleasure  which  I 
experienced  in  this  house,  where  those  golden  days  of  the 
past  had  flown  on,  brilliant  and  serene,  like  a  morning  of 
June,  in  the  light  of  eyes  now  dim  or  dead  to  me.  For 
long  hours  I  sat  in  the  little  parlor,  where  I  had  so  often 
sat  with  Annie,  dreaming  of  the  past,  and  breaking  my 
heart  with  her  image.  There  she  had  stood,  resting  her 
white  hand  on  the  old  mantel-piece,  and  looking  at  me, 
with  eyes  moist  with  tenderness,  when  I  rose  to  go ;  yon 
der  she  had  sat,  by  the  little  table,  with  the  light  upon 
her  hair,  the  white  collar  around  her  snowy  neck,  her 
fingers  busily  sewing  in  the  long  evenings,  as  I  sat  beside 
her;  finally,  there  was  the  window,  and  the  curtain, 
which  she  thrust  aside,  to  follow  me  with  her  kind,  ten 
der  eyes.  I  will  not  further  dwell  upon  those  hours  of 
agony  and  delight,  of  joy  and  anguish.  One  morning  I 
knelt  down  on  the  spot  where  she  had  stood  so  often, 
covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and,  crying  like  a  child, 
prayed  and  sobbed ;  and  rose,  finally,  and  went  away. 

I  returned  to  Europe,  and  remained  abroad  for  ten 
years  this  time — a  wanderer  in  many  lands.  As  before,  I 


ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER.  2G3 

occupied  myself  with  that  eternal,  endless  study — human 
ity.  At  the  end  of  the  ten  years  I  came  back  again,  led 
by  a  presentiment  that  something  connected  with  my 
past  was  to  happen  to  me.  I  was  not  mistaken,  as  you 
will  perceive  when  I  have  briefly  related  what  occurred 
soon  after  my  arrival. 

Briefly,  I  say;    for  upon  this  I  dwell  even  less  than 
upon  other  scenes ;  and  my  history  draws  to  its  close. 


264  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


AT  THE  CORNER. 

I  CAME  back,  then,  and  found  that  the  home  of  my 
early  manhood  was  stranger  and  more  unfamiliar  to 
me  than  the  desert,  Damascus,  Eome,  or  the  furthest 
bounds  of  the  East.  "  Here  a  god  did  dwell,"  as  says 
the  Latin  poet ;  but  his  fane  was  desolate,  and  the  con 
trast  made  the  familiar  scenes  more  strange  than  an  un 
trodden  wilderness.  But  the  old  house  remained — 
because  it  was  mine.  While  I  live  it  will  stand,  as  it  did 
nearly  half  a  century  ago. 

This  house  and  the  corner  where  I  had  first  met  with 
the  woman  who  had  ruined  me,  were  the  only  landmarks 
by  which  I  recognized  the  locality.  As  my  object  was  to 
live  in  the  dead  days,  rather  than  the  living,  I  secured 
the  apartments  which  I  now  occupy,  and  had  thus  before 
my  eyes,  constantly,  the  two  objects. 

The  neighbors  talked  for  a  month  about  the  foreigner 
who  lived  so  secluded,  and  then  they  gave  up  talking, 
because  they  could  discover  nothing.  All  that  they 
found  out  was,  my  habit  of  walking  about  after  nightfall 
— and,  after  awhile,  this  habit  failed,  too,  to  excite  curi 
osity.  I  went  on  dreaming  and  promenading. 


AT  THE   CORNER.  265 

One  night  I  had  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  city — 
had  returned  nearly  to  my  apartments — and  was  passing 
the  corner  yonder,  when  a  woman  with  a  baby  in  her 
arms  touched  my  sleeve,  and  in  a  stifled  voice  asked 
charity.  I  was  wrapped  in  my  cloak,  wore  a  wide,  droop 
ing  hat,  and  stood  with  my  back  to  the  gas-light.  The 
light  thus  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  woman — it  was 
Annie ! 

I  stretched  out  one  hand,  and  leaned  thus  upon  the 
cold  iron  of  the  lamp-post,  for  a  deadly  faintness  invaded 
my  frame  and  arrested  my  blood. 

She  was  wretchedly  clad,  her  face  was  as  thin  and  pale 
as  a  ghost's,  and  her  broken  words  were  still  further 
broken  by  a  hacking  cough.  She  said  that  she  was  suf 
fering  from  hunger,  and  that  her  child  would  die  unless 
I  aided  her — "  For  the  love  of  God,  sir  1" 

She  held  down  her  head  as  she  spoke,  and  cried  in 
silence,  and  this  silence  was  broken  by  myself. 

I  strangled  a  groan  and  a  sob,  which  tore  its  way 
through  my  breast,  and  said  : 

"  Have  you  no  husband  ?" 

As  I  spoke,  she  raised  her  head  quickly,  with  a  wild 
light  in  her  hollow  eyes,  and  gazed  at  me  with  a  look  of 
startled  surprise — almost  terror — which  I  shall  never 
forget. 

"Yes !"  I  groaned.  "I  see  you  recognize  me.  I  am 
George ! " 

She  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  tottered.  I  caught 
her  in  my  arms,  or  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground. 

"No!  do  not!   do  not!"  she  cried,  wildly.     "I  am 


266  ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER. 

not  worthy  to  lean  upon  your  arm  !  Let  me  kneel  to  you, 
and  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  for  I  am  miserable  and  heart 
broken.  But  it  was  not  my  fault.  They  told  me  that 
you  were  unfaithful !  —  that  you  were  dead !  And  my 
aunt  forced  me  to  marry  the  father  of  my  child !  '  Oh, 
no  !  no !  Let  me  go  away — I  will  receive  nothing  from 
you.  I  can  die  now  that  I  have  told  you,  George  !  God 
has  led  me  here  to  give  me  one  consolation  before  I  die. 
It  was  not  my  fault !  I  struggled  long  !  No  letters  came 
from  you,  and  in  a  weak  hour  I  yielded  !  Let  me  go — I 
am  happy  now,  and  can  die  more  peacefully !  Good-by ! " 
As  she  spoke  thus,  sobbing  and  shedding  floods  of 
tears,  she  withdrew  herself  from  me  and  turned  to  go. 
But  the  agitation  of  the  meeting  in  her  prostrated  con 
dition  was  too  much  for  her,  and  her  weak  steps  wan 
dered.  She  would  have  fallen  upon  the  pavement,  had 
I  not  received  her  form  in  my  arms.  This  time  she  had 
fainted. 

I  forced  open  the  door  of  the  house  there  at  the  corner, 
and  laid  the  cold  form  upon  a  couch,  in  the  midst  of  a 
startled  group  assembled  around  the  evening  fire.  A  few 
words,  however,  explained  all  ;  and  very  soon  Annie  re 
vived,  and  was  assisted  to  a  chamber  by  the  kind  and 
compassionate  ladies  of  the  house. 

In  that  chamber  she  died.  With  her  last  breath  she 
explained  all,  and  begged  my  forgiveness.  The  diabolical 
plot,  concocted  by  the  woman  Peters  and  Lackland,  was 
revealed  in  all  its  hideous  deformity.  They  had  en 
deavored  at  first  to  tempt  the  girl  by  rich  presents  and 
by  representation  of  my  poverty.  Then,  finding  this  un- 


ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER.  267 

availing,  they  stated  that  I  was  married  to  another. 
Finding  that  the  girl  did  not  believe  this,  a  letter  was 
forged,  announcing  my  death.  This  was  so  adroitly  done, 
that  Annie  had  been  convinced.  That  I  was  unfaithful, 
she  never  would  believe  ;  but  she  was  forced  to  give  cre 
dence  to  the  story  that  I  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
fevers  of  the  tropics.  When  she  was  still  prostrated  by 
this  intelligence,  Mrs.  Peters,  to  whose  house  she  had 
gone  on  the  death  of  her  mother,  commenced  a  system 
atic  attack  upon  her.  She  resisted  for  a  whole  year  ;  and 
then,  worn  out,  despairing,  more  dead  than  alive,  went 
like  a  phantom  to  the  altar  and  yielded  herself  up.  Mrs. 
Peters  was  rewarded  for  her  exertions,  and  the  girl  was 
the  wife  of  Lackland. 

He  possessed  a  body — the  heart  and  soul  were  paralyzed 
or  dead.  They  gave  her  splendid  dresses — she  received 
them  passively.  They  endeavored  to  cheer  her  spirits — 
she  gazed  blankly  at  them,  with  eyes  fixed  far  away,  as 
on  that  evening  when  she  had  passed  me  in  her  carriage 
— a  phantom  covered  with  satin  and  jewels. 

Then  had  come  the  failure  of  the  elder  Lackland — the 
intemperance  of  her  husband — the  ruin  of  the  family. 
Since  that  time  she  had  been  carried  from  city  to  city  by 
her  drunken  and  tyrannical  husband — abused,  ill-treated, 
struck  more  than  once ;  and  then,  this  man  had  been 
killed  in  a  drunken  brawl,  leaving  her  worn  down  by  ill 
usage  and  sickness,  with  an  infant  at  her  breast. 

She  had  struggled  against  her  misery  for  a  little  space 
— then  had  come  to  understand  that  the  seeds  of  death 
were  in  her  frame ;  and  she  had  bent  her  steps  toward 


268  ANN-IE  AT  THE  COENEK. 

the  scene  of  her  brief  happiness  and  after  misery,  to  lie 
down  and  die  upon  the  threshold  of  her  early  home,  or  on 
the  grave  of  her  mother.  She  had  reached  the  place 
without  money,  and  exhausted  by  her  journey,  during 
which  the  exposure  had  aggravated  her  complaint,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  had  begged  assistance  from  a  stranger. 

That  stranger  was  myself. 

You  know  now,  from  this  brief  relation,  the  whole 
current  of  this  woful  life,  in  which  a  poor  girl  was  be 
trayed  and  brought  to  the  grave,  by  a  base  and  inhuman 
woman,  swayed  only  by  avarice,  and  a  coward,  who  was 
guilty  of  forgery  to  effect  his  purpose.  She  told  me 
everything  in  those  last  moments,  when  all  was  again 
clear  between  us — when  no  cloud  obscured  the  past — 
when,  faint  and  pale,  like  a  white  flower  of  autumn,  she 
slowly  faded  and  went  from  me. 

It  was  the  thin,  white  hand  of  my  Annie  which  I  held 
now  in  my  own,  and  covered  with  tears  and  kisses,  pray 
ing,  as  I  did  so,  with  agonized  supplications,  that  God 
in  His  mercy  would  preserve  her  life,  and  bless  me  with 
the  privilege  of  consoling  and  comforting  one  whom  I 
loved  still,  as  no  woman  ever  was  loved. 

But  it  was  unavailing.  She  slowly  sank — the  gentle, 
gradual  undulation  of  her  slender  form  became  fainter — 
with  her  hand  in  mine,  and  her  dreamy  eyes  fixed  to  the 
last  upon  my  own,  she  went  away  from  me ;  having  to 
console  her  the  conviction  that  my  love  was  greater  even 
than  before,  and  that  I  would  be  a  father  to  her  child. 

And  past  that  corner,  where  I  had  first  met  her, 
young,  smiling,  with  the  light  upon  her  hair — past  that 


AT  THE  COKNEK.  269 

corner  she  now  went  again,  with  nodding  plumes ;  but, 
oh !  such  sable  plumes,  which  waved  mysteriously  toward 
another  land  !  There,  I  pray  God,  that  I  may  join  her ; 
that  we  once  more  be  united — forever  united,  where  the 
light  upon  her  hair  is  the  light  of  heaven.  There,  the 
two  hearts,  so  cruelly  severed  upon  earth,  will  never 
again  be  separated,  and  hand  in  hand  we  shall  live  and 
love  eternally — for  God  is  love. 


270  AtftflE  AT  THE   COEtfER. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


COJSTCLUSIOH. 

MY  story  is  done,  good  friend.  I  have  related  it 
calmly — with  no  sobs,  no  tears,  as  you  see. 

Why  should  I  ?  I  do  not  look  back  shuddering  and 
moaning ;  because,  from  that  dim  region,  a  figure  rises 
stretching  toward  me  the  softest  and  tenderest  hands, 
smiling  upon  me  with  the  kindest  and  most  loving  eyes — 
consoling,  and  soothing,  and  whispering  to  me  of  fairer 
scenes  in  another  existence. 

I  think  I  am  happy.  You  consider  me  sad  sometimes, 
when  I  am  only  tranquil.  The  dim  look  in  my  eyes, 
which  you  often  refer  to  with  the  solicitude  of  a  friend, 
does  not  spring  from  sorrowful  recollections — for  I  am 
thinking  of  Annie.  All  the  grief  and  passion  has  disap 
peared — tranquillity  and  kindness  remain.  I  enjoy  many 
things — I  do  not  keep  away  from  my  species.  Dives  in 
vites  me  to  dinner,  and  I  go;  and  when  Mrs.  Grundy 
sends  me  word  that  a  few  friends  will  assemble  at  her 
residence  on  Thursday  next,  I  put  on  a  white  waistcoat, 
and  go  up  and  fulfil  my  social  duty,  by  talking  to  all  the 
elderly  ladies,  and  exchanging  views  with  Mrs.  Grundy 


ANNIE   AT  THE   CORNER.  271 

upon  the  events  and  personages  of  the  day,  upon  which 
occasions  I  generally  hear  a  good  deal  to  amuse  me.  As 
a  contrast  to  this  "high  life,"  I  entertain  myself,  as  you 
know,  with  Lazarus,  who  is  certainly  a  low  fellow,  I 
must  admit ;  but  he  interests  me.  I  have  told  you  that 
I  sometimes  call  at  Miss  Tabitha's,  who  certainly  is  an 
extraordinary  likeness  of  a  former  friend  of  mine,  long 
since  dead — Mrs.  Peters. 

As  I  retire,  after  one  of  these  little  evenings  at  Miss 
Tabifcha's,  I  am  apt  to  murmur  to  myself,  "forgive  us  our 
trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us." 

To  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  the  sad,  miserable  old 
misanthrope  and  disappointed  individual  the  world  may 
think  me — to  show  you  that  I  am  still  pleased  with  the 
simplest  things — I  will  add  that  even  the  sight  of  my 
little  school-friend,  the  one  with  the  blue  dress,  who 
passes  my  window  every  morning,  touches  and  pleases  me. 

Her  name  is  Annie  Lackland. 

The  child  lives  with  the  family  at  the  corner  yonder ; 
and  when  I  make  a  friendly  call  upon  these  excellent 
people,  she  calls  me  "Uncle  George."  I  have  a  fine 
young  relative,  about  eighteen,  who  is  studying  for  the 
bar,  and  the  rogue  has  already  fallen  desperately  in  love 
with  the  little  maiden  of  fifteen.  Well — the  match  will 
not  be  imprudent,  as  my  whole  property  will  go  at  my 
death  to  the  young  people. 

What  a  fine  evening  it  is !  My  story  has  filled  the 
afternoon,  and  the  golden  crowns  are  slowly  rising  from 
the  summits  of  the  elms,  which  glitter  in  the  sunset. 
The  little  mansion  basks  in  the  warm  light — and  look  at 


212  ANNIE  AT  THE   CORNER. 

that  pigeon  which  has  lit  upon  the  portico,  embowered 
in  the  fragrant  honey-suckle  ! 

The  street  is  filling  with  the  merriest  children — they 
dance,  and  laugh,  and  play  in  front  of  the  old  house, 
which  smiles  upon  them — the  fountain  in  the  square  is 
tossing  up  a  cloud  of  cooling  foam — and  look !  down 
there  !  do  you  see  ?  There  is  Annie  at  the  corner  ! 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH. 


I  HAVE  been  at  "Duluth"  for  a  month,  now, 
watching  the  movements  of  a  little  feminine  hum 
ming-bird.  Her  name  is  Fanny.  She  has  been  the  pet 
of  her  old  bachelor  cousin  ever  since  she  tottered  about, 
and  said  "tuzzen"  when  she  addressed  me;  and  the 
very  first  person  who  ran  to  meet  me  when  I  walked 
up  from  the  old  wharf  on  the  river  through  the  elm- 
skirted  avenue  to  "Duluth,"  was  my  young  humming 
bird,  now  seventeen.  She  hastened  on  before  everybody 
in  the  beautiful  summer  evening,  and  when  the  family 
had  greeted  me,  took  quiet  possession  of  me  ;  drawing  a 
cricket  to  my  side  on  the  old  shaded  portico,  and  leaning 
her  head  with  its  bright  auburn  curls  against  my 
shoulder,  intent,  she  declared,  upon  "a  good  talk." 
She  was  really  fascinating  at  that  moment,  with  the 
crimson  of  sunset  lighting  up  her  red  cheeks,  and  lips 
all  smiles ;  and  Duluth  and  all  was  bright  with  home 
and  welcome. 
273 


274          THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH. 

I  soon  found  that  Fanny  was,  or  appeared  to  be, 
amusing  herself  with  two  young  friends  of  hers  of  the 
opposite  sex ;  and  I  have  varied  my  tranquil  perusal  of 
Montaigne  and  other  favorites,  on  an  old  "  rustic  seat "  in 
the  shade  of  an  ash  on  the  lawn,  by  musing  upon  the  little 
comedy  I  see  playing  before  me.  I  like  such  diversions 
for  I  am  a  little — a  very  little — alone  in  the  world.  I  am 
not  unhappy  ;  for  if  life  is  not  all  roses,  smiles,  and  sun 
shine,  neither  is  it  all  gloom  and  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit  in  my  eyes.  I  keep  my  sympathies  too  fresh  for 
that,  and  take  too  much  interest  in  the  happiness  of 
those  I  love. 

I  am  putting  down  my  notes  from  day  to  day.  Fanny 
has  negatived  the  Montaigne  and  rustic-seat  programme 
almost  completely.  What  a  little  witch  she  is  !  She  is 
certainly  a  beauty,  and  constantly  suggests  a  resemblance 
to  a  rosebud.  Her  cheeks  are  red,  her  lips  are  red — the 
very  little  ears,  peeping  out  from  her  ringlets,  are  rosy. 
She  has  very  large  blue  eyes,  bright  at  one  moment  and 
then  as  soft  as  velvet.  And  she  is  all  the  time  laughing, 
teasing  people,  and  running  about  like  a  child.  Mem.  her 
feet  are  small,  clad  in  morocco  slippers,  with  large  pink 
rosettes,  and  secured  by  black  bands  crossed  over  the  in 
step.  Her  name  is  not  Fanny  Warren,  and  she  is  not  the 
daughter  of  my  good  Cousin  Henry  Warren,  proprietor 
of  '  -  Duluth."  She  is  Fanny  Kincade,  a  connection,  and 
is  on  a  long  visit. 

Fanny  came  out  to  my  seat  this  morning,  and  evidently 
designed  conversation.  So  I  closed  my  book,  smiled, 
made  room  for  her,  and  said  : 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH.  275 

"Well,  my  child,  what  have  you  done  with  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton?" 

Mr.  Thomas  Middleton  being  an  elegant  young  gentle 
man  from  the  city  of  B ,  who  has  now  been  two  or 

three  weeks  at  "Duluth"  endeavoring  to  capture  our 
little  bird,  whom  he  met  in  town  during  the  winter. 

Fanny's  reply  to  my  question  was  vivacious,  but  not  to 
the  point. 

<s  You  are  just  the  same  ridiculous,  absurd,  darling  old 
thing  that  you  always  were,"  said  the  maiden,  "and  I 
do  believe  you  are  growing  laid  I " 

"  What  in  the  world  has  that  to  do  with " 

"You  are  growing  old  and  smart !"  exclaimed  Fanny. 
"All  bald  people  are  smart.  But,  oh  !  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  !  Now,  give  me  an  account  of  yourself,  you  dear 
old  cousin — tell  me  everything  ;  tell  me " 

"No,  I  thank  you,  madam,"  I  responded,  "I  prefer 
hearing  first  all  about  yourself.  But,  no  ;  you  are  grow 
ing  up,  and  will  not  confide  in  me  as  you  did  once." 

"Growing  up  ?  I  am  not  growing  up  for  you  !  I  never 
will.  What  shall  I  confide  ?  " 

"Your  love  affairs,  of  course." 

Fanny  shook  her  head. 

"I  haven't  any  love  affairs,  cousin.  It's  terrible,  but 
I  haven't  !" 

I  shook  my  head  in  turn. 

"That  is  impossible,  Fanny.  Have  I  no  eyes  ?  I  have 
been  at  Duluth  long  enough  to  see  that  Mr.  Tom  Middle- 
ton  and  my  favorite  Harry  Warren  are  crazy  about 
you." 


276          THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH. 

At  the  name  of  Harry  Warren  Fanny  blushed  a  little, 
but  immediately  replied  with  a  laugh  : 

' '  How  absurd  for  me  to  think  of  Harry  as — in  that 
way  !  "Why,  he's  my  brother." 

"  He  is  no  relation  to  you — or  very  distant." 

"Well,  near  or  far,  relation  or  not,  Harry  cares 
nothing  for  me,  and  I  care  not  for  him.  I  never  lay  eyes 
on  him — he's  down  at  that  horrid  old  sawmill  all  day 
long — and  so  let  us  talk  about  something  else,  cousin  ! " 

"Willingly;  but  we  are  not  to  haye  the  opportunity. 
Here  comes  Mr.  Middleton." 

I  did  not  take  notice  whether  Fanny  was  pleased  or 
otherwise  with  the  interruption ;  I  was  absorbed  in  con 
templation  of  the  approaching  visitor.  Mr.  Tom  Mid 
dleton  was  a  handsome  young  gentleman,  though  his  face 
might  have  been  considered  a  little  effeminate.  This 
fact,  however,  did  not  assort  ill  with  the  rest  of  his  ap 
pearance.  He  was  a  most  elegant  youth.  His  hands 
were  white  and  soft,  his  feet  were  small  and  cased  in  the 
tightest  and  most  delicate  French  boots ;  he  held  a  kid 
glove  in  one  hand,  and  dangled  a  light  whalebone  cane  in 
the  other  ;  his  necktie  was  a  wonder,  his  hair  was  curled 
— he  was  an  Adonis  half-natural,  half-fashioned  by  the 
best  city  tailor. 

The  young  gentleman's  countenance  was  illumined  by 
a  gentle  smile  as  he  approached.  He  fixed  his  eyes  with 
modest  ardor  upon  Fanny ;  and  with  a  polite  bow,  in 
quired  in  reference  to  my  health  this  morning. 

I  looked  at  Fanny.  She  was  blushing  a  little,  as  when 
I  uttered  the  name  of  Harry  Warren.  Which  was  it  ? 


THE   WEDDING   AT   DULUTH. 


II. 

I  do  not  know  which  it  is.  When  I  ask  Fanny  she 
simply  responds  that  I  am  the  most  ridiculous  and  absurd 
of  all  the  old  cousins  that  ever  existed,  and  that  it  is 
neither. 

This,  I  am  convinced,  is  a  fib  ;  and,  with  all  her  line 
and  excellent  traits,  Miss  Fanny  is  not  above  this  repre 
hensible  and  immoral  method  of  defending  herself.  In 
deed,  I  begin  to  think  my  little  pet  is  developing  an  im 
mense  genius  for  flirting.  She  has  a  way  of  looking  over 
her  shoulder  while  she  is  singing  at  the  piano,  and  direct 
ing  the  most  languishing  glances  at  tender  portions  of 
the  song  toward  her  admirer,  Mr.  Middleton,  as  he  leans 
in  a  graceful  attitude  upon  the  instrument  beside  her  ; 
and,  last  night,  I  saw  the  young  witch  standing  on  the 
portico  in  the  moonlight,  gazing  down,  pulling  a  rose 
apart  leaf  by  leaf,  and  listening  with  an  air  of  modest 
confusion  to  Mr.  Tom  Middleton. 

"When  the  maiden  was  about  to  dart  off  to  bed,  I 
stopped  her  for  a  moment  in  the  passage,  and  drew  her 
aside. 

"  Did  he  —  propose  ?"  I  whispered. 

Fanny  placed  her  lips  close  to  my  ear  —  pursed  up  her 
mouth  —  whispered  "No  -  o  —  o!"  and  bursting  into  a 
ringing  laugh,  ran  off  to  bed.  I  imitated  her,  except 
that  I  did  not  run,  and  shaking  my  head,  found  myself 
muttering  : 

"Woman,  woman  !  —  and  girls  especially  —  who  can  un 
derstand  you  !  Not  I  !  " 


278  THE   WEDDING   AT  DULUTH. 

III. 

I  begin  to  fancy  that  I  have  the  clue  to  Fanny's 
"views  and  intentions."  I  think  she  has  made  up  her 
mind  to  become  Mrs. Tom  Middleton. 

Before  narrating  the  events  of  this  evening,  however — 
which  events  have  brought  me  to  the  conclusion  in  ques 
tion — I  will  first  say  that  Fanny  has,  in  the  most  shame 
less  manner,  acknowledged  that  she  told  me  a  flat  fib  in 
reference  to  the  scene  upon  the  moonlit  portico.  She 
made  her  confession  in  the  most  penitent  way ;  declared 
that  she  was  ashamed  of  herself  :  but  she  had  forgotten, 
she  said,  that  it  was  her  dear,  ridiculous  old  cousin  who 
asked  the  question ;  she  never  had  concealed  anything 
from  me — and — yes — Mr.  Middleton  had  been  good 
enough  to  express  his  sentiments — and — she  believed  he 
had  asked  her — if  she  would  not 

There  the  young  lady  began  to  blush ;  then  she 
burst  out  laughing,  and  leaning  her  head  upon  my 
shoulder,  looked  up  at  me  with  her  roguish,  wicked  eyes, 
and  said  in  a  whisper : 

"I  said 'No!'" 

"It  was  not  ' no'  that  you  said,"  I  replied,  "I  ob 
served  the  young  gentleman  when  he  came  in ;  he  was 
sad,  but  not  hopeless ;  and  this  morning  at  breakfast  he 
ate,  as  usual,  the  whole  wing  of  a  bird  ! " 

"I  do  declare  you  are  too  bad!"  was  Miss  Fanny's 
vivacious  rejoinder;  "you  are  always  laughing  at  Mr. 
Middleton,  and  making  fun  of  him ;  and  I  do  believe — 
yes  !  I  do — that  you  are  trying  to  make  me  prefer — some 
body  else ! " 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH.  279 

"Harry?    Well,  I  should." 

"And  I  do  not." 

"You  do  not  like  his  big  hands  perhaps;  and  he  has 
no  cane  or  kid  gloves." 

"Absurd  !  But  Mr.  Middleton  is  the  most  agreeable —  i 
you  know  he  is." 

"And  therefore  you  said  No!  It  was  not  that  abrupt 
monosyllable  that  you  uttered,  my  dear — was  it  now  ?" 

"Well — that  is "    said    Miss    Fanny   dubiously. 

"  Well — I  did  not  mean  that  I  used  the  exact  word.    Per 
haps » 

I  began  to  laugh  in  so  satirical  a  way  that  Fanny  boxed 
me,  then  kissed  me  to  make  amends,  and  then  asked  me 
if  I  would  not  like  to  accompany  her  and  everybody  to 
the  sawmill — the  dam  was  nearly  washed  away,  and  they 
were  working  very  hard  to  save  it. 

I  at  once  put  on  my  hat.  Harry,  I  knew,  would  be 
foremost  among  the  workmen ;  there  was  positive  danger, 
I  well  knew  ;  and  as  the  youth  was  a  great  favorite  with 
me,  I  hastened  with  my  Cousin  Warren,  Mr.  Middleton, 
and  Fanny  toward  the  scene. 

This  sawmill  has  been,  since  the  war,  my  cousin's 
main  resource.  His  estate  is  large,  and  once  enabled 
him  to  live  in  the  greatest  comfort  and  even  in  luxury ; 
but  with  the  high  prices  of  labor  now,  and  the  successive 
failure  of  the  crops  for  some  years,  it  would  have  been 
difficult,  without  the  sawmill,  to  "make  both  ends 
meet "  at  Duluth.  It  was  formerly  used  only  as  a  con 
venience  0:1  the  estate ;  but  of  late,  when  the  demand 
for  lumber  has  been  active  and  the  price  high,  it  has 


280  THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH. 

been  looked  to  as  a  source  of  profit,  and,  indeed,  as  I 
have  said,  has  proved  the  main  pecuniary  resource  of  the 
family.  It  has  been  managed  entirely  by  Harry,  who  is 
just  twenty-one,  and  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  known  a 
finer  fellow.  He  is  tall,  stalwart,  with  short,  shaggy 
chestnut  hair,  frank  hazel  eyes,  full  of  honesty  and  de 
termination  too,  and  is  silent,  hardworking,  and  earnest. 
The  most  marked  trait  in  Harry  is  a  cool  independence. 
He  enters  a  room  with  a  firm,  composed,  and  stalwart 
tread,  looks  everybody  straight  in  the  eyes,  smiles 
slightly,  sits  down  and  opens  a  book,  and  all  with  an 
air  which  I  like  extremely ;  the  air  of  a  man  who  works 
hard,  has  come  in  to  rest,  has  nothing  on  his  conscience, 
is  pleased  in  a  quiet  way  with  everything — and  would 
like  to  have  his  supper  and  go  to  bed  !  Sometimes  I  see 
Harry  looking  out  from  beneath  the  wide  straw  hat 
which  covers  his  shaggy  chestnut  curls  and  sunburned 
forehead  at  Fanny.  But  you  read  little  in  his  glance. 
I  know  him  to  be  in  love  with  her,  but  he  has  never 
spoken  a  word  of  love  to  her,  I  am  very  sure. 

A  short  walk  brought  us  to  the  sawmill,  and  the  scene 
which  met  our  view  was  worth  the  walk. 

IV. 

All  the  preceding  day  and  throughout  the  night  a  tor 
rent  of  rain  had  fallen,  and  a  small  stream,  which  was 
dammed  up  by  a  rude  dyke,  and  so  furnished  water- 
power  to  turn  the  mill-wheel,  was  rushing  on  in  the 
wildest  and  most  furious  manner  that  can  be  imagined. 

"When  we  approached  the  spot  where  half  a  dozen  of 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH.  281 

the  hired  hands  were  working  with  Harry  to  save  the 
dam,  the  stream  was  roaring  in  a  hoarse  and  most  threat 
ening  style.  Instead  of  decreasing,  the  freshet  seemed 
gathering  greater  strength  with  every  passing  moment. 
The  surges  lashed  the  fabric  at  the  dam,  which  shook 
and  seemed  about  to  give  way.  At  one  point  now,  and 
then  at  another  a  part  was  torn  away;  the  waters  gushed 
through  the  gap,  tearing  it  wider  and  deeper,  and  it  re 
quired  the  utmost  exertions  of  the  men,  laboring  with 
pick  and  axe,  up  to  their  waists  in  the  water,  to  hold  the 
torrent  at  bay  and  save  the  dam. 

Harry  was  "in  command"  of  the  squad,  and  you  could 
easily  see  that  it  was  his  natural  place,  and  that  the 
rough  workmen  looked  to  him  as  the  natural  master. 
His  costume  was  not  of  the  drawing-room  description. 
He  was  up  to  his  middle  in  the  water,  axe  in  hand,  and 
had  on  neither  coat,  waistcoat,  nor  hat.  His  arms  were 
naked  to  the  shoulder,  and  the  water  had  been  dashed 
over  him  until  his  face  and  hair  were  drenched.  Tall, 
muscular,  cool,  directing  everything,  and  filling  up  every 
breach  in  the  dam  as  rapidly  as  it  was  made,  Harry  was 
the  genius  of  the  scene  and  the  master  of  all  around 
him — to  the  very  water,  it  seemed. 

Twice  he  was  swept  from  his  feet  and  disappeared  be 
neath  the  current ;  once  a  timber  struck  him,  and  the 
lookers  on  uttered  a  terrified  scream.  An  hour  passed  in 
this  conflict,  and  then  the  dam  was  saved.  The  water 
had  begun  to  fall,  and  the  young  man  came  out  and 
walked  up  the  bank  to  the  spot  where  everybody  was 
standing.  I  glanced  from  the  wet  and  dirty  youth  to  the 


282  THE   WEDDIKG   AT  DULUTH. 

elegant  Tom  Middleton.  The  contrast  was  certainly 
striking.  Harry  was  a  brawny  athlete,  sunburned,  with 
shaggy  locks,  coatless,  bare  armed,  his  pantaloons  and 
boots  full  of  water.  Mr.  Middleton  was  irreproachably 
dressed ;  his  boots  shone,  his  shirt-bosom  sparkled  with  a 
diamond,  he  wore  kid  gloves,  and  his  hat  was  smooth 
and  glossy.  Harry  came  up,  and  as  I  was  nearest,  said  : 

"Well,  cousin,  the  dam  is  all  right." 

He  then  looked  about  for  his  hat  and  coat,  put  them 
on,  and  informing  us  that  he  was  going  to  get  some  dry 
clothes  as  he  was  wet,  walked  toward  the  house — a  tall 
young  giant,  moving  with  a  long  swinging  stride. 

Fanny  had  not  said  a  word  to  him.  Did  he  notice  that 
fact  or  look  at  his  rival  Mr.  Middleton  ?  I  do  not  know. 
But  something  has  followed  this  scene ;  and  this  I  am 
about  to  relate. 

Fanny  and  Mr.  Middleton  walked  out  upon  the  lawn 
in  the  beautiful  moonlight  after  tea,  and  the  rest  of  the 
family  sat  on  the  porch  conversing. 

"  I  am  going  to  Colorado,"  said  Harry,  who  was  smoking. 

"  To  Colorado  I"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  cousin.  I  have  a  position  upon  a  new  railroad 
offered  me,  and  I  think  I  shall  accept  it ;  in  fact,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind." 

This  was  said  coolly,  but  there  was  the  least  perceptible 
alteration  in  the  youth's  voice. 

"The  truth  is,  Fm  rusting  here  doing  nothing.  I 
have  no  career,  and  can  not  help  anybody.  I  shall  be 
well  paid  on  the  railroad,  and  can  send  home  plenty  of 
money,  and  live  the  life  I  like  besides." 


THE   WEDDING  AT  DULUTH.  283 

A  step  was  heard  on  the  grass,  and  I  saw  the  white 
dress  of  Fanny  in  the  moonlight.  I  looked  at  her  and 
saw  that  she  was  blushing — as  to  Mr.  Middleton,  he 
looked  the  picture  of  happiness. 

"I  don't  believe  a  Avord  of  it,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  with 
a  little  tremor  in  her  voice.  "  The  idea  of  your  going  to 
Colorado  !  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  would  do  in 
Colorado?" 

"I  should  be  transit  man  on  a  railroad,"  said  Harry 
with  extreme  composure. 

Fanny  tried  to  laugh,  but  did  not  succeed. 

"  You  know  nothing  in  the  world  about  railroads." 

"  That  is  true,"  returned  Harry  with  his  immovable 
coolness  ;  "but  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  soon  learn." 

"And — and — you  really  do  think  of  going  so  far  from 
— us  all — and  by  yourself." 

This  time  Fanny  was  certainly  moved.  The  small 
hand  resting  confidingly  upon  Mr.  Middleton's  arm  was 
agitated  by  a  nervous  tremor.  The  strangest  smile  came 
to  Harry's  face — a  rather  bitter  smile — but  his  voice  was 
perfectly  composed  when  he  spoke. 

"  I  ought  to  be  able  to  go  by  myself  and  take  care  of 
myself ;  and  intend  to  travel  alone,  unless  I  can  get  Mr. 
Middleton  to  go  with  me." 

The  elegant  Tom  Middleton  smiled  in  a  gay  manner, 
and  said : 

"No,  I  thank  you !  I'm  not  in  the  engineering  line. 
I  think  I  prefer  Duluth  to  Colorado." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Harry  quietly,  "  it  is  a  much  more 
agreeable  place,  I  have  no  doubt,  to  those  who  like  it." 


284  THE  WEDDIKG   AT   DULUTH. 

With  which  words  he  rose,  said  he  was  tired,  and  went 
to  his  chamber,  whither  his  mother  followed  him. 

Y. 

Fanny  and  Mr.  Middleton  had  taken  their  seats  at  the 
other  end  of  the  portico.  My  Cousin  Warren  had  fol 
lowed  Mrs.  Warren  to  Harry's  room.  I  found  myself  de 
trop  and  retired  within  also.  When,  an  hour  afterwards, 
the  bell  rang  for  family  prayer,  Fanny  and  Mr.  Middle- 
ton  came  into  the  drawing-room,  and  a  glance  at  his  face 
convinced  me  more  than  ever  that  he  had  "made  his 
arrangements "  with  Fanny,  and  induced  her  to  promise 
him  her  hand.  She  was  blushing  and  avoided  my  eye. 
When  she  retired  she  did  not  look  at  me.  Mr.  Middle- 
ton  was  what  the  novel  writers  call  "radiant." 

This  result  of  things  has  profoundly  depressed  me. 
Who  would  have  believed  it !  So  my  little  humming 
bird  has  flitted  by  the  tall,  stalwart  sapling  Harry,  to 
light  upon  the  Middleton  flower  !  Poor,  poor  Harry !  I 
know  that  he  loves  her,  and  he  is  going  with  the  convic 
tion  that  she  is  to  marry  his  rival !  Human  life  is  a  sad, 
a  very  sad  affair.  Poor  Harry ! 

VI. 

I  don't  think  human  life  is  such  a  sad  affair  after  all, 
and  when  I  next  assume  the  tone  of  the  author  of  the 
book  of  Ecclesiastes,  I  shall  think  my  secretions  de 
ranged. 

The  last  lines  written  in  this  record  of  my  days  at 
Duluth  referred  to  scenes  which  took  place  one  month 
ago.  On  the  morning  after  the  announcement  by  Harry 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH.  285 

Warren  of  his  intention  to  go  to  Colorado,  I  heard  Fanny 
say  to  him  in  a  low  voice  as  she  passed  him  upon  the 
stairs,  "  I  want  to  see  you — come  out  after  breakfast  to 
the  rustic  seat;"  and  after  breakfast  duly  the  young  peo 
ple  were  observed  side  by  side,  by  the  present  historian, 
on  his  own  favorite  seat,  of  which  he  was  thus  deprived. 

I  state  frankly  that  I  availed  myself  of  my  position  in 
the  drawing-room,  where  I  was  reading  behind  one  of  the 
lace  curtains,  to  look  at  the  pair,  and  to  try  and  discover 
the  nature  of  their  interview.  This,  I  regret  to  say,  I 
found  impossible.  My  eyes  begin  to  suffer  from  age,  and 
the  spectacles  now  made  strike  me  as  wretchedly  inferior. 
In  an  hour  Fanny  and  Harry  rose,  and  the  expression  of 
his  face  was  certainly  more  agitated  than  I  had  ever  seen 
it  before.  As  to  Fanny  she  was  blushing  deeply,  and 
was  unmistakably  pouting,  as  though  something  had  oc 
curred  which  was  far  from  being  to  her  taste. 

When  I  tried  to  intercept  her  as  she  came  in — Harry 
having  left  her  at  the  portico  to  go  and  attend  to  some 
of  his  farm  avocations — she  slipped  by  me,  would  not 
hear  my  voice,  and  disappeared  in  her  chamber,  the  door 
of  which  she  closed  with  a  bang.  I  forgot  to  say  that 
during  the  interview  upon  the  rustic  seat,  Mr.  Middletoii 
had  been  seated  at  the  piano,  upon  which  he  was  a  really 
excellent  performer,  and  amused  himself  playing  a  bar 
here  and  there  from  one  of  Fanny's  operas.  He  smiled, 
I  observed,  in  a  confidential  manner  to  himself,  and 
seemed  to  have  no  uneasiness  on  the  subject  of  the  inter 
view  between  Fanny  and  Harry.  Had  not  his  rival  de 
clared  that  he  was  going  away — and 


28G  THE  WEDDING   AT   DULUTH. 

Fanny  lias  just  run  in  and  thrown  her  arms  around 
my  neck,  and  burst  into  tears,  and  laughed,  and  cried 
again,  and  then  laughed  again — and  departed. 

Was  there  ever  such  a  little  witch  ?  And  she  thought 
I  knew  nothing  about  it !  I  knew  all  about  it.  I  list 
ened,  I  eavesdropped,  I  acted  on  the  sly,  and  behaved 
generally  in  a  most  dishonorable  and  highly  improper 
manner.  It  was  last  night  that  I  was  guilty  of  the  pro 
ceeding  here  denounced,  and  as  after  all  I  am  not  so 
much  ashamed  of  it,  I  shall  tell  how  it  happened. 

Harry  had  made  every  preparation  to  go  to  Colorado 
to-day,  and  we  were  all  in  a  very  gloomy  state  of  mind 
about  it — Fanny,  I  think,  the  gloomiest  of  all.  She 
would  tell  me  nothing ;  had  lost  all  her  confidence,  and 
remained  so  much  of  her  time  in  her  chamber  that  it 
was  almost  discourtesy  to  Mr.  Middleton. 

Last  night  occurred  the  denodment.  It  was  about  ten, 
and  I  woke  from  a  prolonged  nap  on  my  old  rustic  seat 
to  hear  voices  near  me. 

{ t  You  must  not  go,"  said  the  voice  of  Fanny  trem 
bling. 

"I  must." 

This  voice  was  Harry's. 

"It  is  perfectly  absurd — you  are  going  away — you  say 

because,  because " 

,  "  Because  I  love  you,"  came  in  deep,  strong  tones,  and 
love  you  so  much  that  I  would  rather  die  than  stay  here 
and  see  you  marry  another  person." 

"I  have  no  intention — to  do  so." 

The  voice  fluttered. 


THE  WEDDING  AT  DULUTH.  287 

"Fanny  I" 

This  time  it  was  Harry  "Warren's  voice  that  trembled. 

"What  made  you  take  such  a  foolish  fancy  ?" — there 
was  a  little  quiet  attempt  at  a  laugh  here — "  I'll  die  an 
old  maid  before  I'll  marry  the  person  you  mean !  And 
oh,  Harry  !  Harry  !  what  a  goose  I  must  be,  and  a  foolish 
little  flirt,  to  have  everybody,  yes  everybody,  even  my 
dear  old  cousin  (that  was  me)  think  me  so  deceitful  !  I 
only  told  Mr.  Middleton — or,  rather  did  not  tell  him — 
that— I  wouldn't ! " 

I  chuckled  quietly.     These  two  negatives  charmed  me  ! 

Fanny's  voice  had  sunk  to  a  bashful  murmur ;  then  it 
died  away. 

"My  dear,  dear  Fanny!" — I  never  heard  a  man's 
voice  express  such  tenderness — "you  have  made  me  very 
happy !  Make  me  happier  still.  Tell  me  not  to  go  to 
Colorado!" 

They  had  moved  away,  and  I  saw  nothing,  and  heard 
no  more.  Yes  I  did.  I  heard  a  kiss,  and  a  sob,  which 
appeared  to  be  suppressed  in  some  measure,  from  the  fact 
that  the  young  lady's  face  was  leaning  upon  Harry's 
breast. 

There  is  no  doubt  of  the  result  of  the  interview. 
Fanny  has  just  announced  with  blushes,  laughter,  and 
tears,  as  I  have  described,  that  she  is  engaged  to  Harry ; 
and  as  she  has  no  relative  but  an  old  aunt,  who  is  devoted 
to  her,  the  marriage  may  be  regarded  as  already  a  fait 
accompli. 

It  has  taken  place.  Mr.  Tom  Middleton  was  not 
present,  having  departed  from  "Duluth"  long  since, 


288  THE   WEDDING   AT   DULUTH. 

with  irate  general  observations  on  the  character  of 
" flirts."  I  think  he  did  Fanny  injustice.  She  only 
looked  fascinating,  and  "  didn't  tell  him  that  she 
wouldn't!" 

The  wedding  at  Duluth  was  a  charming  affair,  and 
Fanny  looked  exquisite  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her 
handsome  and  stalwart  Harry,  who  is  not  going  to  Colo 
rado.  He  will  do  better — that  is  to  say,  take  the  man 
agement  of  the  old  Kincade  estate,  which  is  going  to 
rack  and  ruin,  and  transform  it  by  his  energy  and  brain 
into  a  home  of  wealth  and  comfort  for  Fanny. 

I  never  saw  my  little  humming-bird  look  prettier  than 
when  she  stood  by  Harry,  blushing  and  smiling  under 
her  white  bridal  veil  and  wreath.  This  morning  they 
left  us  on  their  little  tour,  and  I  felt  the  arms  of  Fanny 
around  my  neck  with  a  pang  at  my  heart.  The  very 
sunshine  seemed  to  go  away  with  her. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED  I 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

2  3 1969  3  8 

REC'D  LD  DEC  t?Q  '69 

M    •' 

IP  ,3:2 

AUTO.  DISC. 
SEC  CIRC    JAN  2  *  19^  £p  Q  1  1992 

98R    CIRCULATION 


LD21A-60m-6,'69 
(J9096slO)476-A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  Californi 

Berkeley 


